Ramblings of a Crazy Kat Lady, T, KP, Future Fic
by Peregrine2
Summary: Summary: Kat and Patrick parted on bad terms and have gone their separate ways. He's become an indie rock sensation and she's a world famous photographer. When they cross paths again, sparks are sure to fly.
1. Retrograde

Ramblings of a Crazy Kat Lady-T, K/P, Future Fic

Summary: Kat and Patrick parted on bad terms. 15 years pass before they cross paths again. Find out what happens through the adult eyes of Kat and Patrick.

Written under the influence of The Damned, Maximo Park, Yo La Tengo, and The Weepies.

******

Chapter 1: Retrograde

Kat

I remember the night of the fire like it was yesterday. Literal and figurative sparks flew, and for one perfect moment, two bodies swimming with hormones became one. Years have passed, and the embers of that kiss still scorch my memories.

It would be easy to lie and say he barely scrapes my consciousness, but not a day goes by that I don't see or hear him in some form.

You see, Patrick Verona and his gang of village idiots from the auto shop became a band, and not just any band. No, the Grease Monkeys are the epitome of cool, with the hot, angst-ridden boy turned rock god in the perfect, sculpted package, flanked by Brad and Luis, his goofy sidekicks, and the requisite, short peroxide blonde chick on bass (Berklee graduate, no lie). Coupling solid chops with evocative, intelligent lyrics and the swoon of Patrick's smoked velvet vocals, they appeal to every demographic from the famously fickle preteens to dyed in the wool hippies.

They started small, playing up and down the Left Coast while I toiled away at Brown and emerging as the Wilco of our generation, garnering heaps of critical praise while they grew their fan base, using the Internet as a viral marketing tool that worked to their advantage. Rather than sign their lives away to a major label, they followed the Ani DiFranco route and formed their own imprint, which now boasted a growing roster of happening young artists.

And Verona pushed the envelope even further by adding author to his creative arsenal, starting with a witty treatise of life on the road and finishing with some gritty urban fantasy that had all the Twilighters twittering away at light speed.

From where I sit in my sparsely furnished crib, surrounded by three of five littermates (Curly, Larry, Moe, Flo, and Joe), the man is the epitome of success, filling his life with every sort of excess and living to tell about it the next day. From all the 'hos to the models that decorate his arm, Patrick is never without a companion or a crack pipe (if you believe the tabloids).

As for me, I became a professional student, following up my English Lit degree with a bachelor's degree and master's degree in photography from RISD. My studies were punctuated by stints as a freelancer, which brought in enough dosh to keep my Dad off my back. Eventually they kicked my butt onto the street and I was forced to earn a living. And I have to say, I've been rather lucky in that regard. One of my instructors introduced me to someone at Nat Geo, and now they offer me far flung assignments that take me from the barren steppes of Mongolia to the burning sands of Africa. When I'm not risking life and limb to get the shot, I am inveigling myself with the movers and shakers of the indie rock world. My photos have graced the covers of Spin, Paste, and Rolling Stone and smaller indie rags that pay nothing but a free subscription and the cachet of appearing in a hip 'zine.

My life is never boring, but I've chosen a solitary path that rarely intersects with anything approaching commitment. There was one person, an amazing girl, who forced me to acknowledge my latent bisexuality, and from that point forward, I had fun on both sides of the fence.

And so it was that I received a phone call that would change my life. It was my booking agent, who called several times a week with potential assignments. "This one is a doozy," Sheryl admitted. "The editor of Pitchfork requested a photo essay on the Grease Monkeys."

I sat up so abruptly that the kittens scattered in all directions. "What?"

"Seems that the lead singer requested you personally."

The unpleasant tickle of oh shit and no way threatened to burst from my throat, but all I said was, "When do I start?"

******

San Diego  
Patrick

This is the good life. Girls, booze, drugs, hot cars, buckets of cash, and homes in Tuscany and the Cote d'Azur.

_The American Dream._

Too bad I think it's a sham.

My Aunt Rachel raised me to think for myself and reject the status quo if it reeked. She's my biggest fan, and has been my personal manager for 15 years. There is no one I trust more, and my life has gotten so complicated that she's hired someone to run our family's book store while she watches my back.

My band is my life, and its members are my friends...to a point. I let them see only what I want them to see.

As for the rest, only one person has ever penetrated my armor, and I was the fool who gave her an ultimatum.

That day was never far from my mind, because I had fucked it up big time.

That day had started with a make-out session that ended in an afternoon of mind-blowing sex. The girl did things to me that made me weak in the knees, and even thinking of her turned parts of me into granite.

There we were, tangled and sweaty in the hammock behind my house, not caring who saw us in the blissful aftermath. One of my legs dangled over the edge of the hammock as she lay sprawled across me. One hand stroked through the mat of hair on my chest while the other trailed a bit lower. My mouth was busy nibbling on her neck, hoping to spark another round of lovemaking.

Kat made a sound in her throat and nuzzled my nose with hers. "We need to talk."

Talking was the last thing I wanted to do right now. I parted her legs with one hand and distracted her for a second with an expert twirl of my fingers.

She gasped out a laugh. "Patrick, I'm serious."

"Of course you are." My fingers slid inside her and I was gratified by her moan.

She wrapped her legs around me and I lifted her in my arms, pushing her against the tree and thrusting inside her in one fell swoop. The sex was messy, wild, and hard-driving. When we finished for the third time on the grass behind the tree, I was finally sated. "You have to make a choice."

Her letter of acceptance to Brown had arrived last week and she needed to reply. When she brought the subject up, obviously expecting my heartfelt congratulations, I'd shut her down. Every time we tried to make headway on the issue, we started butting heads.

Why I chose that perfect moment to pick at an open wound is something I still can't fathom.

"You can go to Brown, or you can stay with me."

"What"? She had laughed, thinking I was kidding. Unwinding herself from my embrace, she had stretched with all the feline grace that defined her. My body tightened as she raised her arms over her head, well aware what the sight did to me.

"You can't have it both ways, Kat."

"Sure I can. Come with me."

That wasn't an option. As the man of the house, I felt responsible for my Aunt, who had been recently diagnosed with lupus.

Kat frowned when I shook my head. "Not going to happen."

"OK, so we can try the long distance thing."

I continued to shake my head. "That never works out, and you know it."

She looked down at her feet before collecting her clothes. "Why don't we talk about this later?"

There was no point. We were both stubborn, and would go round and round without finding a resolution. "There is no _later_," I said coolly.

"What do you mean?"

I had to let her go. "We should make a clean break, before this gets ugly."

"_Break_?" Kat looked ready to shatter, and I forced myself to turn my back as she got dressed.

"Goodbye, Kat," I said with finality, ignoring the shaft of pain that fisted around my heart.

Even all these years later, my selfishness and cruelty still floors me. Rachel had warned me repeatedly not to do this, and I had ignored her advice. The immature boy that I was wanted Kat to put me at #1 and push aside her life long dream to attend Brown. I couldn't possibly understand that back then, because education meant nothing to me.

It took five years of therapy, self-medication, and tortured lyrics to realize I had loved her. And any savvy fan that followed my work knew that most of my songs were about one person, even if I never uttered her name or refused to discuss it with the media.

Even therapy couldn't cure my obsession, which I could never shake. I followed Kat's life with the fevered intensity of a religious zealot. Every accomplishment, indeed, every last photo that she'd submitted for publication was plastered to a wall in my office. When she came out of the closet after getting caught on film with one rather lush young woman, I was mildly shocked but felt it only enhanced her sultry edge. And I was well aware of her proclivity for musicians and the circus that always surrounded us. Not only was she photographing all the hot, young indie bands, she was engaging with them on a level which made me green with envy. I am rather certain she followed my music as well, but never once did I see her face at any of our shows. And believe me, I look for her...to this day. Knowing how active she was in the Boston-Providence-New York music scene, I am sure her avoidance was deliberate.

So that is how I found myself returning my publicist's phone call to discuss the photo essay request from Pitchfork Media. They had skewered us in the past, but seemed impressed with our latest bunch of tunes. "I'll do it, with one caveat."

"What's that?"

"I get to choose the photographer."

"No problem. Give me the person's name and I'll make the arrangements."

"No," I demurred. "I want to handle this myself."

Leslie reminded me that I was paying her X amount of dollars and should leave these things to her.

"I'll meet on her turf. Rowe's Wharf, 7 PM sharp."

"Can you be more specific?" Leslie knew it comprised a fairly large area.

"Don't worry. I'll find her."


	2. Boston Orbiting

2. Boston-Orbiting

Kat  
Boston

Bianca was on the other end of the phone as I paced nervously through my walk in closet. "What the hell am I supposed to wear?"

"Relax, I've got you covered." She advised me to stick to basic black, which covered pretty much everything in my closet.

Butterflies danced in my stomach, not yet calmed by the Xanax I had downed with some Macallan. I know, not my brightest move, but this was Patrick _Fucking _Verona! A guy I could admire and hate in the space of a single breath, someone who had thrown down the gauntlet years ago and never made a single attempt to apologize. My ability to hold a grudge was rather admirable, lasting close to ten years before my doctor advised me to let it go for the sake of my mental and physical health.

I took some deep breaths and settled on a dark wine silk shirt over black jeans and my favorite Italian boots. My masses of hair were quickly tamed by a flat iron and twisted on top of my head. Since I wasn't shooting today, the wide brimmed hat that blotted out the sun stayed on its stand, but the vintage sunglasses that had belonged to my Mom always came with me. I'd had them made into prescription sunglasses, for I couldn't see more than a foot in front of me without glasses. On the rare occasions when vanity outruled my common sense, I wrestled with contacts and endured them in the way I tolerated high heels. My regular glasses were nested in my purse, along with ample snacks and my Leica compact camera.

Bianca wasn't done with me. "Why do you think he asked for you?"

I'm sure she could sense my shrug. "To punish me? How the hell do I know? It's a job, and he'll get the same treatment as every other client."

"She shoots, she scores," Bianca replied blithely, referring to my unsavory personal habit of sleeping with any cute guy or gal who caught my fancy.

I heard one of my nieces squalling in the background. "Is my favorite niece giving you a hard time?"

Lola was much feistier than her twin sister, and she was my spitting image. The other girl, Sarah, was a carbon copy of her father, Cameron James, and seemed destined to equal his height. At age 9, she was already shooting hoops with the older kids, and starting to top the height of some high schoolers. "Of course, along with rolling her eyes and making incessant demands for her _causes_."

I coughed back a laugh and noticed that 7:00 was approaching way faster than I wanted. "I better go."

"Call me later with all the details."

More likely I would text her, as that was more my style. Phone calls to anyone, let alone my sister, were the bane of my existence. ""Sure, if I live to see the morning."

She chuckled at my reference to Patrick's long ago reputation as a flesh-eating, soul-sucking, serial killer. Now he was just a womanizing, glue-sniffing musician with a penchant for angst. And don't think I haven't noticed that most of his songs are about me. His fans think it's all made up, but I know better.

With a deep breath, I trotted down the stairs to the vintage car that took up half the garage. It was a nice day for a ride, so I put down the rag top and sighed happily when the car purred to life. It was a 1968 Camaro SS, a twin to the one that Patrick Verona had restored back in auto shop, only this one was a deep indigo blue with white stripes and a black top. It had been a wreck when I found it, but after a year of intense study, gallons of coffee splashed with Jack, and incredibly inventive curses, I had finished the job. Not only that, but it had been retrofitted with a turbo injector that gave me a rush whenever I tapped on the gas. It was as far from the hybrid car that lived in the other stall below my condo, and one of my few guilty pleasures. With a roar, I opened up the throttle for the mile or so of open road before I turned off toward the waterfront.

I found the parking spot owned by my friend Larry, who loaned it to me on weekends when he went away. With a jaunty air colored more by Xanax than any real joy, I closed up the car and sniffed the sea breeze with delight. I rarely came here anymore due to time constraints and other cold realities of being a responsible adult.

Patrick's publicist said he would find me, whatever the hell that meant. Had he ever been to Rowe's Wharf, or was that experience relegated to seeing it on the web? I found myself at the archway of the Boston Harbor Hotel and decided to sneak some shots of passing tourists. With a tight smile, I wedged myself into the middle of a crowd of college kids and got some interesting angles of raised Red Sox pennants in tight fists. When that grew boring, I parted company with my new found friends (the groping kind, oh goody) and decided to try some interior shots at the hotel. It was always fun to try working with limited equipment, and the hotel was on the dark side. It was past 7, and it looked like Patrick was a no show.

Before I could turn toward the hotel, I was struck by the backlit silhouette of someone leaning against the balustrade near the waterfront. The person was unquestionably male and extremely tall, and offered a magnificent composition. With a flick of my wrist, I nailed the shot and was about to walk away when a familiar voice drawled in my ear, "Told you I would find you."

******  
Patrick  
Boston

You ever have one of those surreal moments when your head starts to swim and you think you're in a dream? Everything moves in slow motion and it feels like you're stepping into a Monet painting.

Hammock Kat had been the pretty girl with the sarcastic edge who walked to her own beat.

Boston Kat was a dazzling vision emerging from the darkened arch into the low-angled late day sun, its rays etching her like fairy lights.

I had set myself up by the water, knowing my silhouette would draw her photographer's eye.

She raised and lowered the camera and moved off so quickly that she was nearly swallowed by the crowd before I closed the distance between us.

As I leaned toward her, I caught her scent, a mix of jasmine and roses that made me breathless with want.

My opening line jolted her into twisting around with the familiar cocked head. "Still the same jerk, I see," she offered by way of greeting, a tiny smile offsetting the bite of her words.

My only answer was my perpetual smirk, which bought me a moment or two to take her in, noting the changes with growing approval. Kat was taller than I remembered, and her curvy but lean build was that of an athlete, made clear by the tone and definition of her arms and legs. As she strode beside me in bemusement, I saw that her raven hair had a purple sheen that was perfectly in keeping with her black and purple fetish. But the similarities ended there. Her once bitten nails were now perfect ovals, and her unkempt hair was twisted into an elegant French knot. Gone was the jagged row of bracelets, replaced only by a rather expensive watch and a silver bangle. Her suede boots had only a tiny heel (she had grown a good three inches), and her purse was an unusual creation that I suspected was one of a kind. "You look _good_," I said evenly, my neutral tone belying the volcanic heat that was pulsing through me.

She raised an eyebrow. "So I've been told_."_

"Ooh, aren't we full of ourselves today," I countered, falling into our old routine as if I was born to play this role.

Kat peered over her sunglasses at me and I was struck by her dilated pupils. "Must be the Xanax."

I touched the edge of her sleeve and let my hand fall away before she could swat at me. "Nice to know I still make you quiver."

She bit her lip as we found our way into the hotel bar. "Don't you wish."

We found a dark table in the corner and I ordered a bourbon. "What's your pleasure?"

"Evian."

"What's the matter, you afraid you might lose control?" I teased, remembering the night when she'd gotten so trashed that she'd begged me to come over. Talking was how she'd phrased it, but it ended with her trying to cajole me upstairs for some canoodling. Kat had barely made it to the first step before passing out in my arms. I had carried her down to the couch and laid a blanket over her. For weeks, she badgered me about that night, and I made up a different story every time. To this day, she still didn't know the complete truth.

Kat rolled her eyes. "Not with you, that's for sure," she intoned flatly.

"Would you care to wager on that?" I said softly, watching as she swapped out her sunglasses for a pair of black spectacles.

Whoever said girls in glasses weren't sexy had never seen someone like Kat staring them down with a fiery gaze. "You'd lose."

I slapped my head as if a sudden revelation had struck me. "Of _course_, I completely forgot that you're into girls now."

Kat's fingers tightened around her water glass. "Why don't you say it louder, so the whole fucking city can hear you?" The fury of her whisper vibrated through me, and I was slightly in awe of her temper, which whipped around me like a tempest.

The devil in me rose to the occasion. "Better yet, let's get Walter on the phone so we can all catch up."

She rose so suddenly that her purse hit the glass and sent it into free fall. It bounced once and broke into a thousand jagged edges that mirrored the tension between us. I helped the bartender clean up the mess and turned just in time to see her making her escape. Her pace was so fast that i had to run to keep up and I didn't catch her until she was out of the hotel and halfway across the intersection. Kat wouldn't acknowledge me until we reached the curb safely and she rewarded me with a punch to my arm that really hurt. "Aren't you a little tired of the asshole routine?" she snarled.

I rubbed at my bicep, a little amazed by the power of her blow. "Yeah, I guess."

It wasn't in my nature to offer an actual apology, so she finally sighed and eyed me wearily. "What do you want from me?"

"Well, the photo shoot is real, and I've seen your images, so I know what you can do." Some of her work put Annie Leibovitz to shame, and I wasn't the only one who thought so.

"This is a one shot deal?" Kat queried, sounding more sure of herself when we were talking business.

"We-ll, that depends on you." An idea had been blooming for the past few weeks, and her answer depended on how much groveling I could do in the next few minutes.

"_Meaning_?"

"How would you like to go on tour with us? We're starting in New York and ending in San Diego. Six weeks of all expenses paid, and the sky's the limit."

Kat resumed that pensive gnawing at her lip that I found so endearing. "What's the catch?"

"Let's just say that you try to capture the band at their most real. Catch us when we're up, and try to capture the moment when I'm ready to choke the living shit out of Brad for fucking up the solo. And when it's all done, we can sit down and pick the best shots for one of those coffee table books that you photographers like to drool over."

"For real?"

"Yeah, and you get to keep half the profits."

"Wow, that's quite an offer. I'll have to think about it," Kat replied.

"Don't think too long. We leave on Sunday, with or without you."

She started laughing. "You expect me to ride on a tour bus, with _you_?"

"Of course not. We can follow the bus in my Porsche. Do we have a deal?"

I'm almost 100% sure that the hot car sealed the deal. "OK."

Kat opened her cell phone and said, "You should probably give me your number, in case I change my mind."

"Like that's gonna happen," I scoffed as I read off my number. "Do you still use that 619 number from high school?"

"Nope." She grabbed my arm and started writing on it with a Sharpie. With a laugh, I commented, "And I'm supposed to be the one without manners."

Kat's answering smile was worth all the earlier aggravation, and it stayed with me long after she left me staring after her with my patented Captain Intensity gaze.

******

Kat  
Boston

I had Mandella on my mind, and decided to call her instead of my sister. If anyone would understand this insanity, it was my Goth friend who'd reinvented herself as a fashion designer in New York.

"Hey, is this a bad time?" She knew how I hated the phone, and would only be calling if I was desperate.

"No worse than usual. What's going on?"

It had been a month or so since we'd texted back and forth. "Patrick Verona," was all I said as I waited for her reaction.

Her sigh practically rattled my windows. "I thought you were past this."

I hoped my laugh was convincing. "He invited me on tour, as his _personal_ photographer."

"What the hell?" I heard the sound of her sewing machine whirring. "_Why_?"

"Maybe he's playing with me, or maybe…he's _sincere_."

"That'll be the day," Mandella snorted.

She didn't know him like I did. Once you got past the flippancy, he was more honest than anyone I knew. Interspersed with the jocularity and sarcasm, there were always grains of truth. "I told him I'd go."

"You can't be serious, Kat. This guy broke your heart, and all these years later, you just go trotting right back to him?"

"It's totally not like that, Mandella. I am so _over_ him. In fact, he and I met up a few hours ago to discuss this."

"And you expect me to believe you felt _nothing_?"

The Xanax had made that possible. "Nada. In fact, this is the best form of therapy I can give myself. "

"You're treading a dangerous line here, Kat. Be careful!"

"Of course. So, I might be down to Manhattan in a few weeks. Maybe we can hang out."

Her tone held a shade more warmth than before. "That would be cool. Just you and me, right?"

"Of course." I rung off and collapsed with my kitties on the couch.

The Xanax was wearing off, and the feelings I'd suppressed returned to hurricane strength.

Where did I start?

Time had been more than good to Patrick. He'd filled out even more and his lean but muscular body was perfection personified. He'd filled his jeans and sweater so amazingly well, that had I not been flattened by Xanax, I would have gone into fly catching mode with my gawking.

His face was clean-shaven and devoid of the usual soul patches and goatees that his band members favored. His gaze was open and filled with merriment, and his curly mop was a bit longer than it had been when I'd seen him last. Those riotous curls only added to his appeal, and he damn well knew it.

I'd caught snatches of an interesting tattoo on his forearm, but wasn't about to show any interest by asking about it. His clothes had been the standard jeans and T-shirt that he wore so well, completed by some rather expensive boots with low heels.

And oh, that smile, and the way he crinkled his eyes when something pleased him…it struck me every time, medicated or not. I'd seen him in interviews through the years, and he never flashed that particular grin at anyone. But God help me, it was the first thing I noticed today, and the last thing I remembered as I fell asleep with one arm curled protectively around my kittens.

*******

Patrick  
Boston

It was past midnight, and my band's poker game was still going strong. Selina, Luis, and Brad had the edge, and they were taking turns pointing out why Kat on tour was a bad idea.

"15 years, man, it's a fucking eternity," Luis pointed out unhelpfully, as he won his bluff and cleaned most of my pile of chips from the center of the table.

"We're all adults here," I muttered, wondering if I should fold now or after I was completely run over by my band mates.

Selina snickered. "Yeah, right. You guys are worse than frat boys on a panty raid. I can _totally_ see this ending well."

Brad was _all in_ on the Kat bashing. "She was trouble at Padua, and nothing I've read makes me think she's changed."

"And you believe everything you read? So it must be true that you peed in the fountain at that hotel in Berlin, Luis had a sex-change operation, and Selina is David Bowie's long lost granddaughter," I shot back with mild annoyance.

Brad retorted, "Look, I'm just saying…"

I interrupted, "She's my problem, and I'll handle any shit that comes down."

Luis rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and we all know how good you are at _handling_ her."

He was all about the double entendres. "_Whatever_, maybe it's time to bury the hatchet."

Brad snorted. "If she doesn't bury it in your skull first."

I looked at Selina, who usually sided with me. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

She shrugged and looked at the others two guys. "No worse than these two losers. But they have the sense to keep their dirty laundry shoved under the bed."

Luis blew her a kiss and went for the poker smack down that knocked me out of the game. "Couldn't have said it better, querida."

Selina ran the back of her hand under her chin and joined the laughter when Luis caught her gesture. "Don't let Donna catch you sweet talking me, culo."

"Aw, you're no fun." Luis was a devoted husband and father, but he didn't need any reminders from us.

Selina usually wiped the floor with us at poker, which sort of made up for the locker room mentality that passed for humor on the tour bus. She looked over at me, and murmured, "Have you figured out the sleeping arrangements?"

I was kind of hoping Kat would bunk with me, and it must have showed on my face, for Selina smiled knowingly. "Crack pipe dreams, Patrick," she joked. "And if you stick her with me, I'll break your face."

"You can duke it out, or flip a coin. It's your choice," I said lightly as I leaned the chair back and stretched my arms behind my head, then winced at the ache in my right bicep.

"I imagine she'll want a say in that," Selina offered with a sideways smile, noticing my discomfort.

Kat would dictate every last term of her sojourn, and have it in writing before we shoved off. "_Yeah_," I reply, waiting for the guys to leave before continuing my conversation with Selina.

She asked quietly, "Did she clock you?"

"Sort of."

"And I suppose you did nothing to deserve it?" Her fingers trailed down my arm and down to my thigh.

"Nothing at all," I murmured as she straddled me and started kissing the side of my neck.

Selina found the hem of my T-shirt and pulled it off with the ease of long practice. I sighed happily as her mouth and hands started their wet work on my chest, tracing circles around my pecs and moving lower to my belt line. The rest of my clothes were quickly dispensed with before I stripped Selina bare and pulled her on top of me.

"Mmm, is our arrangement going to be a problem?" she asked quite a bit later as we spooned in my bed.

"Of course not."

She whispered, "Maybe she can join us."

Now that would be something to see. "Don't think she likes to share."

Selina rolled away from me with a laugh before gathering up her clothes and leaving me to settle into sleep.

*****

Kat  
Boston

Cats were draped all over me, warming my feet and butt with their furry bodies. I was half in and half out of sleep when I heard banging off in the distance. I lifted my head and wondered if my asshole neighbor was working on his renovations at the crack of 6.

Nope, the noise was coming from downstairs. I reached for my robe and swore when I tripped on the loose runner near the bottom of the stairs.

When I finally reached the front door, the pounding was splitting my head in two. "What the fuck?" I snarled as I jerked open the door, ready to hurl invective at my morning caller but stopping when I was face to face with the Verona smirk.

"Nice to see you too, Stratford. And may I say, you look like shit," Patrick said jauntily.

"And you look fresh as a daisy. What the hell are you doing here?" I said through the screen.

"Thought I would see how the other half lives." He tried to peer around me but only got a glimpse of the stairs behind me. "You going to invite me in, or shall we let the stalkerazzi put us on the front page?"

Patrick moved to one side and I saw the telltale signs of camera lenses poking out of car windows. "Crap," I muttered, unlatching the screen and covering my face as I'd trained my clients to do when the flashes started going off.

He looked up at the stained glass skylight and whistled at the crown moldings. "Nice crib."

"I'm so glad you approve." I pointed toward the kitchen and said, "Why don't you make yourself useful and brew some coffee? It's all set up."

Patrick started to laugh when Moe came running down the stairs with Larry in hot pursuit. They circled around him twice and the chase ended when one of them stopped to wash up. "Guess the predictions were true," he commented when the rest of the brood joined their brothers and flopped on their backs.

Lost tribes in the Amazon could guess what was coming next. "Aww, I'm so touched that you noticed the blindingly obvious," I snapped as I moved up the stairs, knowing he would use the time to snoop around the corners of my pitiful life and discover that I was a lonely, middle-aged cat lady, just as predicted by the wrinkled crone from the night of the fire.

His voice stopped me halfway up the stairs. "Want some breakfast with that coffee?"

I peered over the railing at him in shock. "You actually know how to boil water?"

"And then some. You game?" He rubbed his hands together in relish and a giggle escaped from my lips before I could force it back.

"I guess so."

He smirked up at me. "If I look in that fridge, will I find something other than moldy bread and beer?"

My grocery delivery service had come early on Friday (too late to cancel the order), and the ice box was stuffed full of healthy fruits and vegetables. "My liver's on the top shelf, you know, in case I decide to sell it on eBay, but everything else is up for grabs."

His only response was a laugh that echoed all the way up to my room, stirring up something at my core that I thought was dead and buried. With a shake of my head, I jumped in the shower and decided that singing with the oldies would have to wait for another day.

******

Patrick  
Boston

I laughed when I saw the rainbow of fruits and vegetables in Kat's fridge. Further investigation uncovered a block of cheddar cheese and some organic eggs. Thank God she wasn't a vegan, or I'd have been hard pressed to throw together an omelet with my meager skills. While I'm sure there were tasty substitutes, I had no idea what those were.

Her cats chowed down on the only meat in her kitchen, and thank God she had the wisdom not to force them to be plant eaters. I had seen that once with one of Rachel's friends, and her cats had practically starved to death before we rescued and nursed them back to health.

As I mixed some organic (of course) milk with eggs, I spied some notices for a local animal shelter. While the eggs cooked, I scanned her cookbooks and discovered that Kat sometimes ate seafood, adored Thai, and had a penchant for baking bread. The door of her fridge revealed that she was an avid recycler (all the recycling days were double circled in red), belonged to an archery club, and enjoyed community theatre.

I folded in some cheese, scallions, tomatoes, peppers, and onions and was happy to hear signs of life as Kat walked into the kitchen with one hand glued to her phone. If I remembered right, she hated the phone, so it must have been business. "Hey, Marlie, I was wondering if you can take care of Flo and the guys while I am gone. I'll pay the standard pet sitting rate. Yeah, two visits a day for 6 weeks. Oh, and Marlie, I have a fridge full of food, so help yourself. Thanks, I will."

I suddenly remembered that she hadn't actually confirmed that she was coming with us, so the fact that she was making arrangements was a good sign. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the omelet and I indicated that she should take a seat.

The table was set (she looked stunned; she'd be shocked if she knew that I never went to this trouble for anyone) and a carafe of coffee was on a trivet. She clicked off the phone while I took the pan off the stove and delivered each omelet to its designated plate. "Here you go," I said with a smile, hoping she would like my humble offering.

Like was an understatement. Kat dug into the omelet with gusto, and declared, "This is the best omelet I've ever tasted. Did Rachel show you the ropes?"

"Just your basic pasta and sauce. I learned about omelets from a chef I dated." Dated was a relative term, it was more like an in and out affair while I recorded an album in Manhattan. Four weeks from start to finish, with fantastic food that was way better than our rather awkward couplings.

Kat made a face. "Didn't know you _dated_."

I steepled my fingers under my chin and grinned at her. "Sounds like you've been keeping track."

A tiny hint of red appeared on her cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself. The tabloids have your number, even if they stretch the truth a bit."

The words truth and tabloid had no business in the same sentence. "You _think_?"

"So I'm not supposed to believe you wrestled with an anaconda and lived to tell the tale?" Kat joshed.

I snickered. "It was a garter snake, and it bit the tip of my finger, but you can't tell anyone."

"Mum's the word."

"By the way, I'm sorry about yesterday."

Her eyes searched mine and I realized she'd temporarily forgotten about my insensitive comments. A moment later, it registered and she looked away for a second. "You didn't know."

Actually, I did, but I couldn't let her know that Rachel had befriended Walter, who frequently unloaded on my poor aunt about both his wayward daughters. "It must be difficult," I replied, hoping she would open up to me.

"You have no idea." Kat clearly loved her father and hated being at odds with him. On the times I'd seen them together, usually butting heads, I saw how much alike they were. Trouble was, despite their causes, Walter was on the right end of the political spectrum and Kat was a bit of a socialist. "My father was a torch bearer for Proposition 8."

"That sucks."

"He thinks it's a phase I am going through, and I should grow the fuck up," Kat said bitterly, gazing at her nails as if she wanted to mow them down to nubs.

"Is it?"

Her eyebrows rose at my question. "I've asked myself that question a hundred times over, and the answer is usually no."

"_Usually_?" I echoed.

A flash of annoyance crossed her face. "What are you, my therapist?"

The door was starting to close on our conversation, and I had to try wedging myself back in before we resorted to the usual banalities between acquaintances. "Nope."

Her eyes were still glittering with emotion. "And why are you here anyway? Doesn't someone like you have better things to do with your time than hang with bottom feeders?"

Christ, was that really how she saw herself? "Obviously not," I replied with a fake smile, mentally counting to ten so I wouldn't lash back at her about her obvious self esteem issues. One of the kittens caught my attention and I asked, "So what's the deal with all the kittens?"

Kat rolled her eyes at my blatant attempt to change the subject. "They live with me until the shelter can find a home for them."

"Don't you get attached to them?"

"Sure, but there's no way I could keep all the cats I foster."

"Not even this one?" I pointed to the cute little tuxedo who had curled in her lap.

She looked down with a smile and laid her hand protectively around the sleeping kitten. "That's Curly, and he _is_ my favorite."

"Let me guess, the others are named Larry and Moe?" There weren't many women who'd own up to watching The Three Stooges, let alone name animals after them.

"Don't forget Flo and Jo." Kat pointed at the two tussling on the floor.

"One girl against four guys? They don't stand a chance."

"You got that shit right," Kat said with a raised fist and a grin.

I smiled back at her and was tempted to run my fingers through her lustrous hair, which cascaded down her back in raven waves.

She noticed me staring at her hair and immediately began pulling it into a ponytail. "_Don't_," I said softly, my fingers staying her hand from completing its task.

Kat slid her fingers out of my grasp and said nervously, "I'm done here."

We brought the plates to the sink and I tried not to watch the sway of her hips too closely, lest my hands started wandering…all over her gorgeous body. She suddenly asked, "You want the grand tour?"

"Only if we save the bedroom for last," I joked.

Some color stole its way back onto her face as she opened a door off the kitchen. "We can start down here."

The smell of oil and sawdust assailed my senses and I suspected we were headed to the garage. She flipped on some lights and I whistled at the sight of her Camaro. "Damn, that's a beautiful ride."

I was looking at her when I said this and she smiled tightly. "Thanks. It was a year of sweat and blood, but it was worth it."

She opened up the hood and I was impressed by the restored engine. "As opposed to the time you cheated on the Volvo."

Kat retorted, "You're just mad because I ditched you at the garage with the rest of the guys."

I laughed at the memory. "I _was_ a little teed off."

"Is that what you call that wounded little boy act you pulled by not talking to me for two weeks?" Kat said with a nasty smile.

My hands went up in surrender. "It's all water under the bridge."

That seemed to strike a nerve. "Is it?"

The script had changed and we were on a completely different page. "Why don't we finish the tour?" I suggested gently, not wanting to sour the little bit of progress we had made in finding our way back to friendship.

******

Kat  
Boston

I don't know what the hell to do. My hands were flailing around as I showed off my library of books and music and my motor mouth was running at warp speed. Patrick was all politeness and managed to curb his usual penchant for sarcasm. He pulled out all ten of his band's albums and raised his eyebrows at the amount of wear and tear on the disks. Even worse, he saw the songs that I'd circled on the CD inserts that were specifically about me. "Want me to sign these?" He smirked suggestively and I shook my head.

"What am I, five?" I grabbed the disks and filed them back in place, ignoring his knowing smirk at my obvious fan girl crush.

Patrick leaned in and murmured, "I could _personalize_ them."

His warm breath stirred the fine hairs at the nape of my neck and shredded my composure. "No thanks."

He crinkled his eyes and flashed the devastating smile he reserved for me. "Let me know if you change your mind," he said huskily, and that is when I knew I was in trouble.

"This way." We move on to my office and his eyes latch onto my 1944 Martin D-28.

"_Wow_," he said with complete sincerity. "Where did you get this?"

"From an old blues guy." Sam had been a good friend of my Dad's, and knowing my desire to play guitar, he had willed his favorite instrument to me.

"Mind if I try it?" Patrick asked with reverence.

"OK."

He fished a pick out of his pocket and lifted the guitar carefully. "No flaws that I can see. It must be worth a fortune."

And so was the insurance to replace it. But I played dumb and shrugged, "Could be. Go ahead and play me something I haven't heard."

Patrick sank onto my posing stool and wrapped his legs around the rungs. He strummed and seemed surprised that the guitar was in perfect tune. "So this isn't just for show."

I was actually pretty good, thanks to years of lessons and lots of practice. "Just play," I replied as I sat on my massive oak desk with crossed legs. Not far from my right hand was my composition notebook full of poems I'd written over the years. Some were probably good enough to qualify as lyrics, but I'd keep that to myself for now.

He started strumming a simple melody that _was_ familiar to me. "Hey, this is…"

My words died in my throat when Patrick started to sing an old Catherine Wheel chestnut. He had the same sort of velvety voice as Rob Dickinson, and I closed my eyes as he made the song his own. The melody died away and I swallowed hard at the look in Patrick's eyes. "Rob is touring with us."

"That's so cool," I murmured, hopping off the desk and cursing inwardly when the notebook went skidding across the floor to Patrick's feet.

He grabbed it and looked at the cover. "What's this?"

"Umm, some poems I've written," I said rapidly, hoping my run together response would fend off his curiosity.

"May I?"

The old Patrick would never have asked permission. "They're total crap."

He started flipping pages and said, "Let me be the judge of that."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I said quietly.

He frowned a few times before shutting the notebook. "Has your therapist seen these?"

Mark would be the last person I'd show these to. "Are you crazy? He'd have me committed."

Patrick smirked. "Guess you flunked those anger management classes."

His long ago taunt still rankled a bit. "_Whatever_."

"But seriously, there's some good stuff in there. Maybe we could collaborate or something." Patrick still had the notebook clutched in his hands.

I almost fell over at that suggestion. "_Really_?"

"Sure. Mind if I borrow this for a few days?"

The old Kat would have told him to shove it, but I couldn't doubt his sincerity. "OK, but if you show it to the band, I'll tear you a new one."

Patrick saluted me and said, "You have my word."

"What, no Scout's honor?" I said flippantly.

"Never _was_ a Scout," he admitted with a half shrug.

"I knew that." Rachel had busted most of the Patrick myths when we'd hung out at the book store (minus Patrick), but I could not claim to know _all_ his secrets.

Patrick's eyes crinkled attractively as he walked over to me with the Martin in his hands. "So, you really seemed to dig that song I just played."

"It's certainly in my top ten."

"Want me to teach it to you?" he said almost tentatively.

"I only have _one_ guitar."

"That's OK." Patrick handed me the guitar and I put the strap over my head as he moved behind me. When he pressed against my back, he said, "Do you mind?"

My response froze in my mouth as his arms encircled me and his hands covered mine. When my assent finally came, it was croaked out through suddenly dry lips. "No."

"It's pretty easy." He really _was_ showing me the fingering, and the part of me that could still think was able to follow his lead. Patrick paused and told me to repeat the bridge, and then he moved on to the last part of the song.

I inhaled his musky scent and realized I had missed it terribly. Since I was a creature of the senses, everything came back to taste, touch, and smell for me. Patrick rarely wore cologne, so I was imbibing a combination of soap and sweat. His arms remained around me as he asked me to repeat the song, but this time he sang in my ear and nearly sent me spiraling into nuclear meltdown. When we finished, I managed to say. "_Wow_."

"My thoughts exactly," he murmured against my neck, and my eyes flew open at the feel of his tongue on my ear.

I cradled the guitar and wrenched myself free from his embrace. "_No_."

His eyes were dark with the same desire that pulsed through me. "You feel it too."

"So what?" I put the Martin back in its cradle and stepped behind the desk to put some distance between us. "That doesn't make it right."

Patrick placed the palms of his hands on the desk and faced off with me. "How can something that _feels_ so right be wrong?"

I retorted, "Bet you say that to _all_ the girls."

"Not hardly." His beautiful eyes were now stormy with anger.

"You expect me to believe your intentions are _honorable_ after the way you tossed me aside like yesterday's trash?" I said defensively, crossing my arms and setting my features into my fiercest expression.

Patrick's face turned to stone, and I knew he was putting a lid on his anger. "I can't talk to you when you get like this."

"You can't charm your way into my life again," I yelled as he took to the stairs and flashed me one last angry look before slamming my front door hard enough to scare the kittens.

*******

Patrick  
Boston

I held the phone away slightly when Rachel exclaimed loudly, "You did _what_? That's the last thing that poor girl needs right now."

"Should have known you would take her side," I said, feeling like a small child whose toys had been confiscated.

"Oh, get over yourself," Rachel countered with mild annoyance. "Count yourself lucky that she's agreed to come on board, and treat her with the respect she deserves."

"I _do_ respect her, _and_ her work," I retorted hotly.

"Ah, so using sex to get what you want is how you respect someone? And to think I've had it backward all these years. Thanks _so_ much for enlightening me," Rachel said derisively, using a tone I've rarely heard from her.

"Can you please be serious? I'm reaching out, and you're shitting all over me."

"You want to reach out? Call your therapist."

I took a deep breath. "Rachel, I don't know what to do. Whenever I'm around her, it's like I'm 18 again. I fall into the same old patterns and can't seem to break free."

"Here's a novel thought: keep it in your pants."

I rolled my eyes and was pretty sure she could sense it. "Now you sound like Walter."

"Exactly! The man does have good ideas every now and again, and he'd be pleased that I passed that tidbit along to you."

What was the world coming to? "Sounds like you two are pretty cozy."

Rachel snickered. "If by cozy you mean we share an occasional cup of spiked coffee, then right you are. But if you're implying that this old hippie is stepping out with a conservative, you're WAY off base."

She sounded a little _too_ adamant about it, which raised one of Kat's favorite red flags. "Well, I'm just glad you have someone to hang with."

"Thanks. And the next time you see Kat, play it cool. Try to keep your distance and act like the professional that I know you can be."

"Sure. Talk to you soon."

Rachel hung up and I leaned forward to once again peer at Kat's poetry. Even in my fit of temper, I'd managed to grab it before she noticed. There was no way I was giving it up without a fight, for when I'd told Kat there was good stuff in there, I'd been understating my admiration by a wide margin.

Truth was, she wrote magnificent prose. Her words embodied who she was, and colored my world in completely different hues. Reading about our breakup through her eyes was a humbling experience. And being forced to relive the hurt that was deep at her core was akin to ripping a scab off a fresh wound. It was unflinching and intensely honest work, and better than anything I've written over the years. If I could somehow take her vision and marry it with music, I could make partial amends for the damage I've done.

There was nothing like the present to get started down the healing path. With a slight grimace, I picked up my guitar and started banging out a melody that had come to me while talking on the phone. It very quickly formed into a raw mix of a song, and I knew it to be good. Rather than share it with the band, I would share it with my new lyricist first.

*****

Kat  
Boston

_You asked too much to fix what you had torn  
Things got out of hand, now I understand_

_Orbiting, lyrics by the Weepies_

Patrick texted me late on Saturday and said he'd pick me up on Sunday at 9 AM. His note was straight to the point with no apologies. I had a few thoughts on my mode of travel, and he probably wouldn't like my change of plans.

Instead of riding with him, I would follow him in my Camaro, which I'd use to cross the country. It made perfect sense to me, and would accommodate my equipment, which a Porsche 911 would not, despite all its hotness quotient.

See, he thought he had me with the car when he offered it up, but I'm only a _little_ shallow. It had far more to do with the whole 'traveling with a cool band' thing. And let's face it, being paid to get up close and personal with a gorgeous, charismatic musician is hardly a chore, even if it is Patrick Verona.

I packed with my usual efficiency, tightly rolling a week's worth of clothes in with my makeup case. For cameras, I was traveling light, with three camera bodies, two flashes, four lenses, and a bunch of extra batteries, storage cards, and film. Yeah, one of my cameras was my prized Nikon F6, which took awesome photos and one that I used with black and white slide film. Along with this gear, I had my laptop and my archery gear.

Verona can mock me all he wants about anger management, because I have an outlet with my archery. Shooting arrows at high speed into a target is as good as it gets for me. I'm no hunter, only a target shooter, and my longbow is carved from ash by a Seneca friend of mine. While it isn't as strong as bows used in competition, I wouldn't part with it for any money. It practically sings in my hands, and I rarely miss my targets with this bow and the arrows I learned to make by hand.

Punching bags are another option, but they aren't too easy to bring on the road. I suppose I could substitute Patrick in a pinch, but he'd probably complain about the abuse. With a smile, I piled my gear near the front door and decided to settle down with some Jane Austen. For awhile, I sank into the trials and tribulations of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and wondered how I would have survived in those genteel, backwards times with my attitude.

One of the kitties curled up in my lap, which got me so relaxed that I fell asleep. Quite some time later, I was startled awake by a quiet knock on my front door. Thinking it might be my pet sitter, I trotted over and opened the door with a ready smile that froze at the sight of my caller.

It's Patrick—_again_—on my stoop, leaning against the iron railing and favoring me with an infuriating smirk. "Aha, I _knew_ you'd be excited to see me."

With an eye roll, I crossed my arms and painted an imaginary target on his chest with my eyes. "What the hell do you want?"

He pretended to stagger from a blow before returning to his former stance. "A little birdie told me that you like the Frames, and they're in town."

_Oh, goody, should I jump up and down and do cartwheels?_ I was sorely tempted to lacerate him with my usual sarcasm to pay him back for his early morning maneuvers, but I pulled out the dramatic stops and offered a winning smile. Even I could push my anger aside for a chance to spend an hour or two in the presence of a lyrical god like Glen Hansard. "_Ooh_, I get first dibs on Glen."

"Is that a _yes_?"

I nodded. "Let me get my coat."

"You'll need it," Patrick said with his man of mystery voice.

I grabbed my purse, keys, and phone and the hoodie which hung in easy reach by the front door. After I locked up, I paused at the sight of his motorcycle. "What happened to the Porsche?"

His laugh jangled every one of my nerve endings. "It has the night off."

I snorted. "_Ah_, did it complain about unfair labor laws?"

This bike was ten times nicer than the one he'd had in high school, but it was bland enough not to attract a thief. "Hop on," he invited with a smile that lit up the night.

Echoes from that day we'd both been suspended came rippling back, tickling my brain with feathery moments that seemed etched from someone else's life. That had also been my first motorcycle ride, and to make a sappy moment even cheesier, we'd ridden off into the sunset together. "You sure about this?" I challenged with a raised eyebrow.

Patrick took the bait. "_No_, but I'm doing it."

I climbed behind him and grabbed his hair, enjoying the feel of its silky softness as it slipped through my fingers. When he looked back at me with a half smile, I shrugged and said, "Holding your hair, you know, just in case."

His answering chuckle was something to be savored, because he was serious more often than not. When he next turned, he offered me a black helmet with a completely deadpan expression. "Helmet."

I saluted him. "Yes, _officer_."

Patrick's smirk disappeared under a matching helmet. "Hang on," he said through the helmet's radio.

And off we went to a show on the eve of our 6 week adventure, which was sure to be the ultimate ride of our lives.

*****

Patrick  
Boston

Kat abandoned me as soon as we got to the club. She elbowed her way through the throng and made almost instant eye contact with Glen, who came over and gave her a hug. She slapped a few other band members on the back and started working the room. There were a few times when she pointed at me with a thumb's up, indicating her pleasure at being here, even if I was a means to an end.

But that was kind of the point. I wanted to treat her to some of the benefits I took for granted, and I had greater access to the kind of people she wanted to meet. It was good for her business, and it would certainly go a long way to get me back into her good graces.

No one paid me any attention, and it was a refreshing change from the usual bullshit that is part and parcel of being a celebrity. Glen came over for a few minutes, and after we shook hands and chewed the fat, he excused himself and moved on to some other fans. It was kind of like a wedding where you don't get to talk to anyone at length, but at least if you touched base with everyone, you felt like you'd made an effort.

I smiled at the sight of Kat laughing it up with some of her friends, and rather than feeling excluded, I saw it as a chance to see her in her element. Rumors to the contrary, she was not a flirt or anything approaching easy, and I wondered where her wild reputation had come from. Perhaps a disgruntled lover had gone to the tabloids and made up a whole bunch of crap to make themselves feel better. Back in the day, that person could have been me, for I'd been convinced I was the injured party in our personal War of the Roses.

The band came on after 10 and Kat finally deigned to return to my side. She whistled as Glen picked up his guitar and sang along quietly, knowing every song by heart. About halfway through the first set, she threaded her arm through mine and set us swaying side to side.

I enjoyed it while it lasted, which was only a few minutes before Glen changed the mood to a more raucous variant of his earlier folk ditties. Shortly after midnight, the band left the stage for the last time and I murmured to Kat, "We should probably get going."

Kat didn't argue (surprisingly) and followed me willingly to the front of the club and out the door. When we got to my bike, she touched my sleeve and said, "Thanks for bringing me."

"Anytime." With a smile, I handed her the helmet wordlessly and pretended to gasp when she punched my arm (lightly this time) and settled behind me.

I patched in my iPod and let her hear some raw mixes my band had done during our recent rehearsals. She was singing along by the time we got to her house, and her only farewell was a bump of her fist against mine and a faint nod of her head when I said I'd see her bright and early.

******  
Kat  
Boston

I have to say this about Patrick. He's always been prompt, and today was no exception. When he said 7 AM, he meant right on the dot.

My car was out in the driveway, and I was packing the trunk when he showed up on his motorcycle. He peered over the top of the trunk and I expected his 'what the hell' speech, but he surprised me by saying, "Mind if I store my bike in your garage?"

"Excuse me?" I straightened up and nearly hit my head.

"Well, I figured you would pull something like this, so I put my Porsche on ice for a few months," he explained with a grin.

There was nothing worse than a guy who thinks he can outsmart you, and then gets away with it. "Do what you have to," I grumbled, frowning even more at his slightly mocking laughter.

"Oh, don't worry, I will." Patrick found his way back to my side and lurked a bit too close for comfort. "I still make you nervous, don't I?"

"Don't flatter yourself. This trip is strictly about business."

He leaned against the rear quarter panel. "Want to make a bet?"

I had a feeling he was serious, but I wasn't. "Sure. Your Porsche for my Camaro."

"Ah, that's not fair," Patrick replied. "But if you throw in your Martin D-28, we have a deal."

Was he kidding? They'd have to pry that guitar out of my cold, dead hands. "In your dreams, Verona."

"Only place I get any action." I started to snicker but the intense expression in his eyes silenced me momentarily.

"When it comes to you, that is," Patrick admitted.

"Aww, only in your dreams? I thought I'd at least rate a nightmare or two," I joked as I ducked my head and closed the trunk.

He stepped into my path before I could escape into the car. "It can _never_ be all business, Kat."

"Sure it can," I said blithely, knowing my words were as phony as a three dollar bill. If I made _business_ my new personal mantra, I might just survive this tour with my sanity intact.

Patrick caught my wrist as I tried to move around him. "Only the unfinished kind," he reminded me as I turned back, not wanting to admit what I saw in his heavy, dark gaze.

I slid out of his grasp. "Sheesh, can we skip the drama and get a move on?"

He actually looked upset as he moved around to the passenger door and got in. "Whatever you want."

*****

Patrick  
Boston to Manhattan

Kat was a good driver, and I dozed off shortly after we hit the Mass Pike. I'd slept little the night before, because I found myself stewing over Kat. She fell into that weird black hole between friend and lover. She didn't belong to either category, so how should I classify her?

_Professional acquaintance?_

I woke up shortly after we crossed into Connecticut and heard her humming along to PJ Harvey. She glanced over briefly before returning her focus to the endless white lines that still lay ahead of us.

My mind wandered to one of her mutual acquaintances who lived in New York. "Hey, where's Mandella living these days?"

"West Village. Why do you ask?" Kat sounded a bit defensive, and I wondered why that was.

"No reason. I just figured you two would hook up when we get to the city."

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "_Hook up_?" If wishes were horses, then hers were kicking the shit out of me.

Ooh, she was steamed. "Sure, it's not like you get to see her every day."

She was slightly less torqued when she shot another glance at me. "That's true."

"It _shouldn't_ be a sore subject," I said quietly. "So why did it send you off the rails?"

An uncomfortable silence settled between us and I could see her mind working on a response. Several long minutes later, Kat finally said, "Because, Mandella is gay, and she's always had a thing for me."

Oh, Christ, I really had put my foot in it this time. "_Wow_, I didn't know."

Her dark eyes flashed over the top of her sunglasses. "How could you? It's not like she broadcasted it to anyone. When she found out I was bi, she figured it was open season and declared her undying love. How am I supposed to respond to that in any way that won't end in heartache?"

"Must be a major awkward vibe."

"You _think_?"

It should have been that way between us too, but oddly enough, we had managed to bridge that gap and found equal footing with our mutual love for music.

"Do you have a preference…for women over men?" It was merely idle curiosity, and didn't seem to offend her.

"Not really. I'm drawn to both sexes at different times and under changing circumstances."

She pulled into a rest stop and said, "Let's stretch our legs."

Kat was moving at a fast clip, and I didn't attempt to catch her. I called up Luis and let him know where we were and when they could expect us. He filled me in on the hotel accommodations and unleashed a color blue streak that made me laugh. "See you soon."

I'd once dated a bisexual woman, and it had been an interesting experience. Truthfully, it wasn't any different than any other pseudo relationship I cultivated, except this lady really liked me and was looking for a commitment. I'd had to cut her loose when she started stalking me, and only a restraining order kept her at bay.

And now I had the ultimate challenge near at hand, with a jigsaw puzzle personality that shifted like sand. Just when I thought I was making headway, she changed the rules and tossed me out in left field. I leaned against the car and watched her march back to the car with barely concealed amusement. "How about I take the wheel for awhile?"

"OK." She handed me the keys and switched sides without another word. A short time after we pulled back onto the highway, I heard a faint snore from the other seat. With a grin, I lowered the volume on the CD player and let the wind become my soundscape.


	3. NY Cult of Patrick the Night Walker

3. New York-Cult of Patrick the Night Walker

Kat  
New York

I cranked me up some Frank as we caught our first glimpse of the city. Patrick rolled his eyes as I broke into a song that was already old when my father was born. When he grimaced, I sang even louder and we came to a dead stop in midday traffic.

A few people were appalled by my taste in music (some were playing gangsta rap, go figure) and rolled up their windows. "That's the problem with people today," I proclaimed, gesturing at a vibrating Mini Cooper to our left. "They'd rather blow out their eardrums with Jay-Z than take the time to appreciate the subtleties of Sinatra."

Patrick snickered. "Playing Sinatra at Def Jam 10 is _hardly_ subtle. You might as well hang an Old Fart flag on your antenna."

That got me laughing, and I kept tittering as we moved forward a few inches. "My Dad delivers babies with Frank in the background."

He eyed me through his curly bangs. "Let me guess. Your arrival was heralded with some near beer and a side of Frank."

"More like The Scorpions, but who's keeping track?" I countered lightly, enjoying the sun on my face and the sound of his appreciative laughter.

"I don't know what's scarier, the fact that your father channels Sinatra in the delivery room, or that you actually know who Jay-Z is."

"Not only do I know him, I shot him." I curved my fingers into an imaginary gun and laughed at the mock horror on his face. "As in, publicity photos for Roc Nation."

"Ooh, bet that opened doors for you," Patrick said dryly.

"Sure did. The money's great, and I'm not so high on my horse that I turn down rap and hip hop clients."

"Or deadbeat exes," Patrick added with a wave of his finger.

The traffic started to unclog and we picked up speed. I was enjoying our little interlude so much that I said, "I've missed this."

Patrick threw me an impish look. "Yeah, there's nothing like that daily dose of venom and blatant sarcasm to put a spring in your step."

"Isn't it wonderful? Just think how we'll feel after 6 weeks of witty banter."

He chuckled. "The possibilities are endless."

"Who knows? Maybe we can turn it into a comedy act."

"Or start up a twitter feed with Luis and Brad weighing in."

I was actually looking forward to seeing those two guys, even if it meant suffering with endless jokes about helpless women and naked mole rats.

*****

Patrick  
New York

I pulled up to the Chelsea and greeted Jake the valet, who had taken great care of my car the last time I stayed here for an extended period.

"Jake, this is my friend Kat," I said, realizing we were closer to being friends than we had ever been at Padua.

Jake tipped his hat and smiled when Kat asked if she could take his picture. "Sure thing." He struck an interesting pose and probably figured he was humoring a camera happy tourist.

Kat opened the trunk and removed her rolling suitcase and camera backpack. She lowered the trunk and handed the keys to Jake. Without a glance in my direction, she started moving toward the lobby. Her legs were long and she could really move fast, so she was through the front entrance and closing in on the reservations desk when I caught up. "Can I give you a hand with anything?" I offered.

She laid the back of her hand against my forehead. "No sign of fever. Perhaps the planets are in conjunction."

I pushed away her fingers. "_Hey_, I'm capable of chivalry."

Kat laughed. "In what universe?"

"You didn't even give me a chance," I pointed out.

She thought about that one for a few seconds and flashed a grateful smile. "True enough. Take the suitcase if you want."

Kat moved up to the counter and exchanged pleasantries with the clerk whose tag said Leigh. "Where are your quietest rooms located?"

_Shit_. Stupid me for not ironing out the details ahead of time. "Umm…she's with us, Leigh."

The clerk's mouth formed an O of recognition. "Oh, of course, and you've booked three suites on 6."

Kat looked between me and Leigh in growing agitation. "Mind telling me which room is mine?"

That would have been almost funny under other circumstances. Before I could interject, Leigh announced, "You are booked in the suite with Selina Borrego. Do you wish to change rooms?"

Christ, it would have almost been easier to bunk with me. "Yeah, put me in with Luis and Brad. I'll take the couch if I have to."

They would probably be delighted, but Brad was a pig and Luis was not beyond temptation, despite the picture of his beloved Donna that traveled with him everywhere. "No, she can take the extra room in my suite."

Kat shook her head. "No way, Verona."

Leigh was following our sortie with avid fascination, and was willing to let us duke it out.

I pulled Kat aside and muttered, "Why do you have to make everything so difficult?"

"Because I'm not the Staples guy," she snapped, and it took me a few seconds to remember the red button with its 'That was easy' motto.

My own irritation threatened to overtake the good mood that had lingered for the last 12 hours. "Find her a separate room, preferably as far from mine as possible." I shoved aside the suitcase and booked out of the lobby like the hounds of hell were snapping at my heels.

******

Kat  
New York

How could he forget that I wasn't easy? That everything had to be discussed and negotiated and not taken for granted. Hadn't he learned that during our short time together?

They found me a tiny room just down the hall from the band, and I settled in with alacrity, packing away my clothes and locking my cameras up in the safe. The only one that stayed out was my D700, which I'd use for some establishing shots and during tonight's rehearsal.

An hour passed before my phone chimed with a text message from Patrick. "Come on down for some pizza. I'm in 614. You can catch up with the guys and meet Selina."

Oh, goody, I'm sure that would go over well. Call it a gut instinct, but I didn't see myself bonding with the tough looking gal from Madrid. I didn't bother replying, and thought about blowing them off altogether and heading out to one of the many clubs in the city with Mandella. Here I was in one of the most exciting cities in the world and I had to choose between blind hatred and the awkward vibe that sprang up when I saw my Goth friend.

"Might as well get this over with."

I shouldered the camera and flash and shuffled down the hall to 614. The door opened almost immediately and I was accosted by the eager arms of Luis, who hugged me and said, "Kitten, you look amazing."

And he looked like an overfed guy with a receding hairline. But his bright eyes and blinding smile were the same as ever, and I knew that at least one member of the band truly liked me. "Hey, Luis. How's your wife doing?"

Luis held out her photo with pride and I smiled at his obvious devotion. "She's beautiful."

"Thanks, and we have a little one on the way."

"Congratulations." Was I supposed to salute him for procreating, an act that could be viewed as detrimental to our gene pool and harmful to our already overcrowded planet? All this went through my head, but none of it came out of my mouth. I was aware that Patrick hovered with Selina at the periphery, and that Brad was stuffing his face full of pizza in the far corner.

I walked over to Brad and bumped my fist against his. "Dude, I hope you're still working hard to save those mole rats."

Brad spit out some beer and smiled up at me with a doughy grin. "Woman, I go _out_ of my way to destroy anyone who dares harm a hair on those little rodent heads."

"Good boy." My fingers ruffled his hair and a second before he realized what I was doing, I pressed the shutter and grabbed some primo shots. With a laugh at his scowl, I danced out of reach and twirled around to face the Dashing Duo that leaned in perfect symmetry against the balcony.

I watched body language and facial expressions closely, and I picked up on something immediately. Selina kept leaning into Patrick, and he kept sidling away. They were embroiled in a tense discussion that almost certainly involved me. Yes, I was a self-absorbed prat who thought the world revolved around me, but all that aside, Selina kept tossing me these steely glances that would have skewered a less formidable person. Seeing the opportunity for what it was, I started snapping away, catching the little nuances of their ebb and pull display.

My zoom lens focused in tightly on Patrick's troubled face and the desperate looks he was throwing my way. Selina up close was a rather marvelous subject, with her high, sculpted cheekbones and tiny mole next to her Angelina lips. Her eyes were a manufactured seafoam green that had to be contacts, and she had the body of Venus. But I saw through all that to the real woman, and that lady was holding on to some desperation of her own. Each time she reached over to touch his hand, he pulled away with increasing discomfort.

Patrick looked hopeful when I started to approach, but I dashed his expectations when I stopped to take advantage of the light turning their profiles into an Old Master's wet dream. More than a few words escaped their stage whispers, and it was enough to paint me the entire picture.

Friends with benefits, or whatever the fuck they called their arrangement, was no longer working out. Selina demanded to know why it was suddenly a problem when I was so clearly _not_ into him.

_Don't try to tell me how the fuck I feel, bitch._

With a sweet smile, I turned off the camera and cooed, "So nice to meet you, Selina. I adore your bass playing on the last record."

She separated herself from Patrick and offered a stiff handshake. "And you have done marvelous things for Madonna. Can you Photoshop out a few lines?"

"Absolutely." I also thought I could erase out part of her fat butt if my hand happened to slip. What the hell? She would thank me later.

*****

_It doesn't matter  
What we did wrong  
Makes no difference  
To me  
I see the light in your eyes  
And you're dancing free_

_Anything can Happen, Lyrics by the Finn Brothers_

Patrick  
New York

Kat was the life of the pizza party. She had both guys eating out of her hand (after half a dozen beers, they performed like trained chimps) and got shots of everyone acting like complete morons. Even I joined in the fun and snatched pizza out of Selina's hands, then pretended to cower in terror when she swung at me. I danced just out of reach and inhaled the Greek pizza (her favorite), then laughed like an idiot when she chased me around the room for taking the last piece. Her last punch landed in my solar plexus, and I felt the force of her anger in that seemingly playful jab. Pizza was an easy cover for her annoyance with me, and it allowed me to escape my own feelings for a short time.

The camera snapped away and it became an extension of Kat's body. I'd never seen anyone merge so naturally into a group and practically become invisible, until a situation called for her to intervene. She kept Selina at arm's length, but dove right into it with Brad and Luis, who loved to mug for the camera when they were shitfaced.

The guys finally got bored with their party tricks and flopped on the couch with my big screen remote in hand. They settled on a Yankees game and had fun dissing Kat's home team when they got thrown out twice. She started making motions to leave, and I wanted to follow her out of there. "Can we talk later?" I implored as she made her way to the door.

Kat yawned. "Maybe. I might be out."

"Aren't you coming to rehearsal?" I kept my tone light, but it wouldn't be the same if she wasn't there.

She snickered and looked over at the band's resident couch potatoes. "If those two make it out the door, send me a text."

I wrote down an address and handed it to her. "It's an old factory. Two blocks down and one block across."

Kat tucked it into her pocket. "Can I bring Mandella?"

"Safety in numbers, right?" I guessed.

She gnawed at her lower lip. "Something like that."

"Cannibalism is only by special request," I joked.

Her smile was faint. "I'll pass that along. See ya."

*****

Kat  
New York

I escaped to my room with a manic laugh that echoed oddly in the hallway. When I finally bolted the door behind me, I collapsed to the floor with my camera next to me. I turned on the preview and was rather jazzed about the results. The goofy shots were fun, but the real meat was the series I'd done on Selina and Patrick. Their fraying dalliance had tons of potential, and would make a great spread on some gallery wall.

The rehearsal space was close to Mandella's crib in the West Village. I had second and third thoughts about calling, but she'd be expecting it. Dread tightened my throat when I heard her sweet voice, always ready and willing to lend me an ear. "Hey," I said tightly, wishing I could shrug aside my trepidation.

"Kat, I was hoping it was you. Have you eaten?"

"Kind of, but I'm always up for a few more courses." Good thing I'd eaten so lightly throughout the day.

"We can get some sushi and catch up. Do you mind if someone joins us?" Mandella asked in that careful way she has when she's trying not to cause offense.

"Sure. Anyone I know?"

I heard a voice in the background—female—and started to smile. Could it be she had moved on? My eyes raised to the heavens in silent prayer, even if nothing more than clouds and sun floated around out there.

"Not really. What time do you want to meet?"

"Give me an hour."

"Where are you staying? We can meet you in the lobby."

"The Chelsea."

Mandella chuckled. "Of course. Where else?"

"Not my choice, but it's a crash pad."

"Will Patrick be joining us?"

"No way. This is strictly girl's night out."

"Cool. OK, let me hang up so you can get cleaned up."

I hadn't imagined the relief in her voice. There was no love lost between Patrick and Mandella, but they'd managed to cobble together a grudging respect, right up to the point where he ripped my heart out and fed it to the sharks. If I brought her along tonight, it might spark a firestorm of hostility.

With an evil smile, I decided that when the shit hit the fan, I'd be ready and waiting in the wings with camera in hand.

******

Patrick  
New York

I left the room for some ice and happened to catch Kat entering the stairwell. Wondering where she was off to, I decided to follow on the elevator and cut her off in the lobby. I got there just seconds before she emerged, and was about to call her out when I spotted a familiar figure sitting in the lobby.

Mandella (looking rather svelte) and another woman got to their feet and met up with Kat in the middle of the large space. There was a series of hugs and handshakes and an interesting lack of tension in the set of Kat's shoulders. I caught the word sushi and decided that literally eating live bait was not worth forcing my company on them.

Besides, I had a feeling Kat would jump on the chance at throwing Mandella into my path at rehearsal. See, I knew how she worked, and it was a small price to pay for what I'd done to her. Mandella was fairly easy to deal with compared to the wrath of Kat, and she had the bloom of new love on her cheeks. Yeah, she would be a pussy cat, and I could totally turn this to my advantage.

They faded into the late afternoon and I followed them out to the street, but headed in the opposite direction. The bracing spring air felt good on my face, and started to have the head clearing effect I was seeking. I found myself moving toward Central Park and lengthened my strides when I was free of the sidewalk throng.

I edged the famous pond where kids had their boats and skirted some girls who recognized me. With a smile, I ducked behind some trees and almost laughed when I heard one of them say, "He just disappeared. Maybe he really _is_ a vampire."

Yeah, I had that effect on people to this day, and continued to cultivate the numerous myths that were attached to my name. My Wikipedia page had full details on soul suckers, serial killers, cannibals, and vampires. The fact that I had a tan, was often seen during the day, didn't sparkle, and never passed up a chance to admire my reflection should have been a clue, but the Cult of Patrick the Night Walker continued to thrive.

I found a solitary bench and plopped myself down for a spell. With a sigh, I wondered what the hell to do about Selina. For five years, our little arrangement had worked perfectly when the band got together. We were both discreet, and no one outside the band caught wind of what was going on. But when Kat came on the scene, Selina had started to flaunt our fling, and even worse, she had revealed her claws.

Kat may have heard enough to connect the dots, but she hadn't been privy to the snide comments about how my lack of commitment was directly related to my emotional castration by 'that slut'. There was a grain of truth in Selina's accusations, but the part about Kat being a skank and a 'ho was the last straw. I had stormed out of the room under the auspices of grabbing some ice, and had found myself drawn once again into Kat's web, unable to deter myself from following in her wake.

'_You're doing it again', Selina had said. 'You ignored us in Boston and spent all your time chasing Kat.' _

And I was doing it again. What did that say about me? I sighed again and got to my feet, knowing exactly where this was going, and not sure if I was man enough to let it take its natural course.

_Keep it in your pants._

I could hear Walter's voice so clearly that it was like he was standing beside me. With a shudder, I forced myself to think about tonight's rehearsal and focusing on that got me moving back to the walking path.

*******

Kat  
New York

Her name was Holly, and I liked her on sight, which rarely happens with me. Her white blonde hair was braided in a thick rope and her cornflower blue eyes were unguarded and radiating with good cheer. She pumped my hand effusively and said she was my biggest fan. In fact, she had commandeered a few of my original prints from Mandella's studio.

Holly was a software engineer who designed hot games for computers and gaming platforms. When she rattled off a dozen titles that I recognized, I realized I was a bigger geek than she was, because those games _ruled_ and I owned most of them.

I had cowered a bit when I'd first spotted them sitting there, expecting the same censure and high drama that I'd just experienced on the 6th floor. After all, I could be cast as the villain in no less than two real life soaps. Selina was convinced I was the Great Satan (that hurt worse than the skanky 'ho comments, which hadn't gotten past me), and Mandella's new squeeze probably thought I was the reincarnation of Dick Cheney (alive is a relative term for a brain dead asswipe, but I digress).

But none of that happened, and we passed a few hours of diverting conversation that helped me put Patrick and his cronies away for awhile. The sushi bar also served delectable crab cakes that had me slobbering in anticipation. As I dug into them, I kept one ear on the meandering conversation across from me.

It was boring, domestic talk about window treatments and rugs and that was when I finally got a clue. "You guys are shacking up?" I asked through a mouthful of horseradish and greens.

Mandella's cheeks pinkened becomingly. "We're thinking about it."

Rather than gross them out with another show of crab from my maw, I held up a thumb and took a big swallow of water. "Wow, that's a big step."

"It is," Holly admitted with a sideways look at Mandella that spoke volumes about how far things had progressed. It underscored a level of commitment, comfort, and stability that I pretended to despise because I fell short in all those areas.

"I'm so happy for you." With a smile, I leaned across the table and we had a group hug (it was touching, but part of me wanted to hurl). With that taken care of, I answered questions about my current assignment and nearly spit out my drink when Holly referred to Selina as a barracuda.

"Whew, I thought I was the only one," I said after a big gulp of Macallan (25 year old liquid heaven) that warmed me to the tips of my toes and made me a bit giddy.

"Those types _always_ go for the eyes." Mandella patted my hand and nodded like she'd been there and back.

I wiggled my glasses back and forth. "Good thing I wear specs."

Holly said dryly, "If she's targeting you, it might be wise to carry heat."

This was too funny. "Glock or Walther PPK?"

She looked around with a conspiratorial air before whispering, "I'd go for battle armor and a lance."

"In case she goes medieval on me," I said thoughtfully. "Better include my bow and quiver of arrows."

Our mutual giggles were fueled by alcohol and female bonding, which was in short supply back at the Chelsea. We high-fived it and split the tab. "You guys want to tag along to rehearsal?"

"Oh, could we?" Holly exclaimed with excitement. "I love the Grease Monkeys, and it would be great fun to see you peel the skin off Selina's frame."

"Umm, that's Patrick's M.O.," Mandella reminded her with a grin.

"Oh, but I thought he was into blood sport."

"As in the Cult of Patrick the Night Walker?" I said mockingly.

"Exactly! My niece is a card-carrying member, so I'm up on all their nonsense."

My brain was concocting all kinds of fun scenarios that were sure to make Patrick squirm. "Does she have tickets to any of the shows at the Irving Plaza?"

"We're all going tomorrow," Holly explained.

"Cool. Let me see what I can do to get you backstage." I knew that Patrick appreciated his fans, but he tended to steer clear of the squealing pre-teens. And I was willing to bet that Holly's niece fell into that category.

"That would be awesome. So what time are they rehearsing?"

I checked my cell phone, and sure enough, a text had come in within the last half hour. "_Come on by at 7."_

"We can head there now," I said.

There was any number of things I could do to throw Patrick under the bus, though Selina was first in line for that honor. With a gleeful smile, I followed them out the door and kicked my heels together in anticipation.

*****

Patrick  
New York

I was strumming quietly in a corner when the Kat contingent pulled in. They were full of laughs and I immediately knew Kat was tipsy. She was incredibly funny and sociable when she got sloshed, and people from Padua still talked about the legendary mole rat party.

Normally, the presence of her friends wouldn't bug me, but I'd wanted to discuss what I'd done with her poetry before springing it on the band. This was obviously not the time, so I'd have to wait for a private moment and make it happen.

"Hey," I greeted them as they approached and smiled back at Mandella's girlfriend, whom I instantly recognized as a rare breed: a genuinely nice person who found good in everyone and everything she encountered. She asked intelligent questions and moved away to the side when my crew arrived.

Luis and Brad were eager to get started, but Selina was more interested in checking out the competition. As she sized up Mandella and Holly, Kat circled behind with her camera, looking insanely pleased with herself. She moved in for the kill when Selina flashed one of her famous pouts, which was the precursor for a major snit.

Selina launched into a volley of Spanish, obviously thinking that Kat and company were incapable of following her chain of insults. Kat moved closer and I saw the amusement and total comprehension in her eyes. Her hands matched the rapid movement of Selina's hands and when Kat's prey finally noticed, she turned bright red and started to move toward Kat.

Kat put one hand on her hip and flung it right back at Selina in flawless, idiomatic Spanish. With a snicker, she finished with, "Are we done yet? 'Cuz this is getting boring."

Selina would have launched herself at Kat if I hadn't strong-armed her and pushed her aside. "We're done here," I said with a warning in my voice.

"Good, because if this happens again, I'm out of here. Do we understand each other?" Kat's words dripped with condescension, which did nothing to mollify Selina.

Selina's dark eyes flashed at me but she finally nodded sullenly and stomped over to her bass.

The rest of the rehearsal was mostly uneventful, and everyone behaved. We took a break and I threw on some Roxy Music. Over You came on and Kat started dancing with her friends, who were soon joined by Luis and Brad. One song morphed into the next one and out came the camera, following its owner as she gamboled about the room. She danced over to me and grabbed my hand. "Don't be such a stick."

I dragged my heels, but when Take the Skinheads Bowling came on, even Selina joined the guys for some bobbing and weaving. When I got within earshot of Kat, I said, "Is that what I am?"

"Yeah, sometimes." She spun into a rather nifty move that included some slick footwork. I found a nearby wall and continued to watch as she slipped between the others. Had she always been able to dance like that? I folded my arms and leaned, and I soon had unexpected company in the form of Mandella.

"Do you mind?" Mandella asked tentatively.

I shrugged. "Your girlfriend seems nice."

"Yeah," she said with that dreamy drawl that often accompanied new love. It gave me hives, but I merely smiled in response.

"I'm glad. Now if we could only find someone for Kat," I said with a sideways smirk.

Mandella didn't return my smile. "That will never happen."

I knew what was coming. "Sure it will…in an alternate universe."

"I've seen how you look at her," Mandella stated simply.

There was no point in beating around the bush. "So what? It will never work."

She looked between us and rolled her eyes. "The only thing getting in your way is _you_."

I scratched at my head. "Now where have I heard that before?"

"Probably your Aunt Rachel. Maybe you should listen to her."

"Don't forget Walter. Daddy knows best," I said dryly.

"Maybe he does," she countered sharply. "Look around you, Verona. Inviting Kat along was a _really_ bad idea. Your band is split down the middle, and your bitchy bass player is about to walk. Unless you plan on doing _something_, then let Kat go."

One of my internal walls came crashing down, and my fingers bunched against my thighs. "I _can't_," I said in desperation.

Mandella inched closer and murmured, "Well, then, hear this. If you break her heart, I'll break your face."

And with that stolen quote from Some Kind of Wonderful, Mandella shoved off and said her farewells to Kat. As for me, she looked at me sharply and raised a finger in warning.

Kat skipped over to me and laughed. "Wow, that was a non-event. She sure has mellowed."

I smiled tightly. "If you say so."

******

Kat  
New York

_In so many ways  
I'm the same as you  
In so many things  
Better left unsaid_

_A Life Between Us, Lyrics by the Finn Brothers_

Shortly after Mandella left, I packed up my gear and slid out the door like I was stealing home. Footsteps sounded after me and I heard Patrick calling, but I made like a bandit and fled the scene. With a whoosh of relief, I collapsed on someone's stoop and wiped the sweat away from my brow. "What the fuck was that?" I whispered under my breath.

Jealousy I could understand, because Patrick was the perfect physical specimen. From head to toe, he was everything that a girl could want, and then some. He was also intelligent, perceptive, sarcastic, and downright funny when it suited him. Layer that with his astonishing voice and musical talent, and he approached God status.

So yeah, I _totally_ get what the female horde sees in him.

And on his better days, he even approaches sweet and kind, but blink and you might miss this brief flash of humanity.

If I'd been banging the guy for 5 years, I might expect something in return. But given their no strings arrangement, could Selina honestly expect him not to stray? Serial monogamy was not in his blood (or mine) anymore.

No, what I'd seen on her angry, mottled face was way past jealousy and quickly approaching lunacy. I knew crazy, _hell_, my own life had bordered on insanity for a good part of my life. But I'd never been so unhinged over someone that I became certifiable. But the way she targeted me right off the bat was not the behavior of a balanced mind. Selina was judge, jury, and executioner right out of the gate, and not someone I'd turn my back on.

It was Patrick's call, but if I was him, I'd cut my losses and send her packing. Good bass players were a dime a dozen, and they'd come clamoring for work once they heard there was an opening.

Still, despite the fact that she was completely on board the crazy train with Ozzie, she was right about Patrick. He'd been going out of his way to spend time with me, from cooking me breakfast to carting me around to a Frames show. And inviting me to stay in his suite was a whole other shade of fucked up. No wonder the poor lamb (she was anything but, despite her last name) had gone off the rails.

Anyone with half a brain could see that Patrick and I were damaged goods, and we couldn't erase our fucked up history. At this stage of the game, I expected and wanted nothing from Patrick. What was the point of apologizing when every word and action was meant in full measure? He could not take it back, and he damn well knew that tossing out phony platitudes would backfire on him.

I respected that trait, because I was the same way. Neither of us suffered fools gladly, and for that, we retreated into a company of one, or what I liked to call my solo act. My own company was always better than the company of another person. I could bitch and whine to my heart's content, and no one judged me. I could be the biggest slob on the planet, and no one would call me on it. And if I _chose_ to be a switch hitter (actually, it kind of chose me), then so be it.

It set me at odds with my family, and my Dad might never speak to me again. But I was not going to compromise my integrity or my lifestyle to suit him. He'd always expected great things from me, and my accomplishments spoke for themselves. But he would not bend on the rest of it, and no amount of cajoling from Bianca the peacemaker would sway him. He was resolute and willful (traits I shared) and convinced he was the wronged party.

So what the hell was I doing here, sitting on a cold, stone stoop with all these thoughts spinning my world completely around? I got to my feet and started jogging back toward the Chelsea, realizing that sleep was pointless when I was moving at a million miles an hour. The only thing that would quell the rising storm was my archery, preferably with Selina's witchy face as the bull's-eye. But since that was out of the question, I'd settle for the plain vanilla target that I'd brought with me.

*****

Patrick  
New York

_And we're staring at  
Each other  
Like the banks of  
A river  
And we can't get  
Any closer_

_A Life Between Us, Lyrics by The Finn Brothers_

A direct approach was probably best, but she wasn't in her room.

Text messages went unanswered and forget about calling, because she would rather hang herself than get tied up on the phone.

So where the hell was she?

I paced around my room and let my late night thoughts swirl around me. If I was Kat, what would I do to calm down? Because after Selina's little episode, I'd be freaking out too. Sex was one option, but she seemed to be taking the celibate route. I suddenly remembered the bow and arrows, and my lame jokes about playing Cowboys and Indians. After she had promised to scalp me, I had wisely dropped the subject, but now it all made sense.

The girl needed an outlet, but unleashing that volley of arrows might prove difficult in an urban setting. Then I realized where I'd go if I wanted to practice, and my feet started moving toward the hallway. With a mental pat on the back for my detective skills, I found the stairs to the roof and took advantage of the many flights of stairs to work off some of my own frustration. By the time I got to the top, I felt my inner calm start to return and I took a moment to stretch my arms out and let the cool night air rejuvenate me.

The city spread out below me and I stopped to take in the view, knowing it was far more spectacular when bathed in a neon glow. The light of day would unveil the less savory 'hoods that surrounded us, and would be far less remarkable.

Moving further down one side of the roof, I finally heard the unmistakable thwack of arrows hitting their mark. I went around one oddly shaped structure and was struck dumb by her moonlit silhouette. Silver limned her frame and transformed her into an ancient elven princess, loosing arrows with the fluid motions of an expert hunter. For whatever she called herself, there was no doubt that Kat would hold her own in the forest. And woe and behold to the poor wretch who found themselves crossing her firing line.

Kat stopped to grab her arrows from the target. "You wanted to talk." She moved close enough to spear me with her sharp gaze. "So talk."

I flanked her and marveled at how easily she pulled the bow back. "I took some of your poems and put them to music."

That got her attention. "Oh, I bet that went over well." Her fingers were twisting and her teeth were probably following suit on her lower lip.

"I didn't tell them. In fact, I might not take these songs to the band."

She smiled faintly. "Ooh, am I sensing a _solo_ album on the horizon? Better yet, will you be going all Kiss and releasing simultaneous solo albums?"

"Not quite," I said dryly. "Remember that M. Ward project with that actress?"

Kat's unexpected grin lit my insides on fire. "How could I forget? My sister played it nonstop for months, and then she dragged me to the show."

"They were actually kind of great."

"So let me guess. You're in search of some hot looking babe with pipes to sing _my_ lyrics."

"_Exactly_. " I felt like giving her a gold star for cutting right to the chase.

"Good luck with that," Kat said stonily, which completely deflated the hope that had dogged me for the past few days.

"I thought you'd be excited." So much for the gold star.

She glared at me. "_Appalled_ is more like it. Just when I think you can't go any lower, you prove me wrong. First you try seducing me, then you practically steal my poems out from under me, all so you can croon along with some tramp."

My mouth opened and closed and my confusion erupted into the world as laughter. "My God, Kat, you really believe that I'd sink so low?"

Her half nod made me want to shake her. "Probably."

"Don't you get it? I want _you_ to collaborate with _me_."

The lip twisting returned in earnest. "_Why_?"

"Because I've heard you sing, and I'm pretty sure you know a few things on that guitar of yours."

The edges of her lips moved toward a smile. "Do tell."

I dared to step closer and extended my hand. She looked down at my outstretched fingers for a long beat, then finally dropped her bow and surrounded my hand with her strong grip. I led her to the edge of the roof and we leaned together, watching the night pass us by as I filled her head with my hopes and dreams. When I finally ran out of words, Kat leaned in and kissed me on the cheek so quickly that when its swift passing finally registered, she was long gone.

*******

Kat  
New York

Mandella texted me and promised coffee and muffins in exchange for an early visit. That was an easy yes and it wasn't long before she showed up with breakfast in hand.

It was barely past 9 and I'd only slept a few hours, but I felt strangely energized. "To what do I owe this honor?" I asked.

She handed me a cup and found a nearby chair. "I wanted to apologize."

Mandella was the last person who owed me an apology. "For what?"

"For dropping the bomb about Holly and me."

I waved off her concerns. "Everything's cool."

Mandella still looked worried. "But how can it be? I made you think I was in love with you, then said we'd hang out together, and then showed up on your doorstep with the love of my life."

"That's excellent." I was so relieved that I wanted to jump up and down with joy. Knowing that Mandella could be a bit capricious, I sincerely hoped that Holly was the real deal.

"Am I crazy?" she asked suddenly.

Crazy was catching, but I am pretty sure it passed Mandella by on the way to the Stratford house. "That depends," I replied. "What are you referring to?"

"This thing with me and Holly…it happened kind of fast."

"Does that matter?" Mandella obviously needed reassurance.

"Well, good relationships take time."

I rolled my eyes. "Says who, the unwashed masses?"

She laughed. "I know I shouldn't care what people think."

"Damn straight." The coffee was the daytime version of Macallan, and it was hitting the spot in a big way. The muffins were freshly baked and nearly evaporated in my mouth.

"So why do I care so much?"

"Insecurity. Fear." I shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, you're not alone."

She raised an eyebrow and it was like she saw straight through me. "Hmm, so maybe you're not as immune to public opinion as you think."

Mandella was right. I put on a good show of not giving a damn, but I cared way too much. "Look, all I can say is do what feels right. If it works, then don't question your good luck. Someone like Holly comes along maybe once in a lifetime, and if you throw that away, you might never find it again."

Her smile was a sight to behold, and it lit up the room with her radiance. She hugged me hard before sitting back down. "But sometimes you do, right?"

Oh, fuck, now she was turning the focus to me and Patrick. "Could be," I said mysteriously, thinking about last night's rather sweet interlude. My reaction couldn't be blamed on alcohol, so I must have caught my temporary insanity from Selina.

"Look, you're not fooling anyone, Kat. You two have this soul mate vibe, and everyone knows it. That's why Selina has gone 'round the bend."

"And here I thought she was off her meds," I quipped, not realizing how close to the mark I was hitting with that comment.

"I think he needs to send her packing, or he'll never get any peace," Mandella stated, picking her muffin apart like it was a delicate flower.

"I agree, but I have to stay out of this." I finished up my muffin and went to the nearby sink to wash my hands. "He said something about going over his itinerary for tonight's concert, so I may have to jet in a few minutes."

She tossed out her trash and wiped up the crumbs. "So we'll see you tonight. Along with about a dozen girls from the Cult of Patrick the Night Walker."

Ah, this sounded like heaven. The thought of all those hormones converging on the hapless guys in the band might very well be the pinnacle of this tour. "Sounds great. I'll make sure you guys are on the list."

There was only one list that let you backstage, and beyond the radio station and music rag scribes, only friends of the band and their trusted companions got by the goons that guarded Patrick.

"Thanks." She gave me another hug before making like Snagglepuss and exiting stage left.

******

Patrick  
New York

I was getting ready to round up Kat and head over to the Irving Plaza to get the lay of the land. We'd played there before, but it had been awhile since we'd performed in smaller venues. In fact, since none of us needed the money, I proposed that we return to the clubs we loved and play multiple nights in one location. It would give us time to rest up, and would provide the face time with our fans that we never got in arenas.

So just as my hand reached for the phone to call her, I heard a quiet knock on my door. Thinking it might be her, I opened the door with a ready smile, only to feel it fall away at the sight of Selina. "What's up?" I said, knowing there was an edge in my tone that had never been there before.

She looked around me to see if anyone was with me. "Can I come in?"

I blocked the door with my body. "I was just on my way out."

"Please," Selina pleaded. "It's kind of important."

"You have 5 minutes." I pushed myself away from the door and found my favorite leaning spot near the balcony.

She twisted her hands together and finally met my eyes. "I can do it in 3. This thing between us isn't working for me anymore. I thought I could handle…" I could see a swear forming on her lips before she changed course and continued, "I'll do the rest of the tour with you guys, but after that, I'm leaving the band."

Selina had just saved me a whole lot of aggravation. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I miss my family, and might go back to Spain for awhile."

"That sounds like a plan." On the lame scale, this conversation was pushing 11 and competing with Nigel Tufnel.

"I also wanted to apologize for my behavior. It was unprofessional, and well….my meds kind of ran out," Selina admitted with a sheepish smile.

"Kind of?" I echoed flatly. In all our years together, this had never happened. Oh sure, she'd come unglued a few times, but never like the last day or so. Selina was bipolar, and when you finally found the right cocktail of drugs, you stayed with it. I know that Selina hated what the drugs did to her figure, and she was constantly dieting to offset the inevitable weight gain. So feeling insecure around Kat, she'd probably stopped on purpose, even though it was dangerous to do so.

"Sorry," she said, but there was nothing sincere in her smug smile.

I looked at my watch. "Your time's up."

"In more ways than one," Selina retorted, before launching herself through the door and slamming it behind her.

If I was one of the good guys, I'd feel a tinge of remorse for letting her walk. But nice was something you took with your cream and sugar, and I was a black coffee kind of dude. The only thing I felt was free, and I swear there was a bounce in my step as I bounded down the hall, finally liberated from the band's albatross.

*****

Kat  
New York

I pulled on my I'm Not Easy tee, comfortable black jeans, and black suede boots. Not knowing how long we'd be gone, I threw protein bars and two bottles of water into my camera bag. By the time Patrick arrived, I was pacing back and forth and nibbling on my left thumbnail.

I thought I had lost that habit, but apparently Patrick brought out the best in me. From the snarling feminist to the softer side he'd reached last night, he knew me better than anyone, even my Dad. "Hey," I said, grabbing my stuff and closing the door before he got any ideas about coming in.

His eyes crinkled as he read my T-shirt. "Nice to know some things haven't changed."

"Damn straight," I replied with my tough girl voice. "You got to me last night, but that's as far as it goes. Got it?"

Patrick saluted. "Noted. Any other demands before we storm the fort?"

I smiled despite my determination to be cranky. "Well, since you're asking so nicely, there's this." My fingers fished around in my pocket and grabbed Mandella's list from C.O.P (Cult of Patrick).

He held out his hand with a furrowed brow. "What the hell is this?"

"A list of people," I answered with complete sincerity and not one hint of my inner hilarity.

Patrick made an impatient sound. "I can see that. What's it for?"

"The list to go backstage."

He rolled his eyes. "You're kidding, right? I can't let hordes back there. One person here and there is already one too many."

"And here I thought you lived and died for your fans," I retorted. "Isn't it the whole reason you opted for clubs and theatres?"

There was nothing he hated more than having his words thrown back at him. "_Yeah_," Patrick replied tersely. "But a dozen names? That's bordering on fan club size."

Damn, but he was astute, and I was afraid that I couldn't pull this off. "Naw. just some fans hanging out."

Patrick walked around to face me and we stopped on the sidewalk. "What's in it for you?" he asked suspiciously.

It was better to offer a half truth than a complete lie. "I kind of promised Mandella…" My words trailed off as I pulled out my best begging face, one that had fooled people more than once.

He steepled his fingers and speared me with that look I'd learned to steer clear of. "Ah, so it's OK to piss off my band, just so you can stay on your friend's good side."

"Would you rather piss off Mandella?" I said with a raised eyebrow.

Something shifted in his gaze and I almost knew the exact second that he caved. "I see your point. OK, I'll do it, but there's a price."

"What's that?" I resumed my long strides and was rather amused by his attempt to keep up.

"You'll have to wait and see," Patrick said with a cryptic smile and a laugh as he passed me and took advantage of his greater height to win our little test of wills.

*******

Patrick  
New York

_Tryin' to remember when i could  
Fix anything with sound_

_Beautiful Beat, Lyrics by Nada Surf_

Kat radiated this energy that snapped me up and made me want to dance to her beat. It only lasted for a picosecond, but I felt like she was the Pied Piper of Hamlin and I had no choice but to follow her to the ends of the earth.

The thing is, if the choice was real, I'd go anywhere she went. That old Carole King song said it all, better than I ever could. Which is why most of my songs about her are laments, because I ripped that choice away from her back in high school.

Kat was going on about this and that, and I loved listening to the rise and fall of her voice as we approached the club. She babbled excitedly about tonight's show, meeting Rob Dickinson, and possibly helping out at the merch table. And all was sweetness and light, until she spotted our band's poster that urged fans to support the RIAA.

"You can't be serious," she said in a deadly tone that sent my good mood straight to hell.

I folded my arms across my chest and matched her glare with my own. "_Dead_ serious," I intoned ominously, sounding far more sinister than I intended.

"So you think it's OK to sue little old ladies and poor college kids?" Oh, yeah, the girl was itching for a fight and I was more than happy to give her one. It wasn't her livelihood on the line. Wonder how much she'd squeal if people started poaching her prize winning photos off web sites without paying a royalty?

"I didn't say that," I said defensively, aware that we were attracting attention from more than a few folks with camera phones.

My nod toward the club's entrance was ignored as Kat reached for the poster to rip it down, only stopped at the last second by my wicked fast reflexes. "Sure you did," she hissed. "By posing for these assholes, you rubber stamped their ongoing efforts to ruin people."

"It's not that simple," I sputtered, wanting to drag her inside kicking and screaming but knowing she'd never forgive me if I attempted to play caveman.

"Sure it is. And don't even get me started on the fact that you give away your fucking music for free, then slam people who share it with their friends."

I pointed at the growing crowd and whispered, "You're making a scene. If you don't want it plastered all over YouTube, I suggest we take it inside."

"Too late," a blonde girl said cheerfully as she snapped her phone closed.

Shit. This was the last thing I needed. "Giving it away was _our_ choice, which is hardly the same as people downloading it illegally."

"Wow, I never imagined you'd lower yourselves to Metallica's level," Kat said almost under her breath as she finally followed _my_ lead for a change.

"And I never imagined you'd make such a huge deal over _nothing," _I retorted, rubbing my hands together like I was washing my hands of this discussion (which I was).

"You call this _nothing_? When the RIAA is pocketing all the proceeds from their stupid lawsuits? Like I believe any musical artists are getting a penny of that money."

I had no defense for that and decided to change the subject before we traveled down 40 miles of bad road. "Look over there. I want you to meet someone."

She looked annoyed that I had backed down and turned her head toward the sound board. "Who?"

"That's Anj, the lady who spins here. And I have a feeling you two will have a lot in common."

And with that, I deposited Kat into the kindly hands of Anji Bardakian, one of my Aunt Rachel's college pals who'd migrated to the East Coast and made a living off the music industry.

I had my own aggravations to deal with before I took Kat around to meet some of the staff members she'd need to work with tonight.

More than that, it would give us both time to cool down before we queued up for our next bout.

******  
_Many miles, many roads I have traveled  
Fallen down on the way  
Many hearts, many years have unraveled  
Leading up to today_

_I Deserve It, Lyrics by Dean and Britta_

Anj said I could help her pick out music for tonight. No sane person could pass up an offer like that. "So, ask me anything," she offered as she programmed in tracks.

I was so immersed in the liner notes of a rare Raincoats 45 that it didn't register at first. "What was that?"

"_Patrick_. You want the scoop, then I'm your source."

The 45 was returned to its case as I thought about the many ways I could use this to my advantage. "Tattoos. I've only seen one, and want to know more."

Anj teased, "_Only_ one? Should I ask which one?"

I felt a rare blush break out on my face. "Umm, the one on his arm?"

"Ah, that's the Chinese symbol for tranquility."

That was my only foray into Pat's tats. "So he has more?"

"Lower back and right shoulder. One is a cat and the other is a wolf."

"_Huh_." The cat was _no_ coincidence, and the wolf fit right in with his self-defined persona as a lone wolf.

"Is that _all_ you wanted to know?"

I pointed at the RIAA poster. "Does he really support those thugs?"

Anj shrugged. "Who can say? Considering that every penny from publishing, record sales, and touring goes right back to the band, they're hardly in a position to complain.

"_Exactly_ what I said," I said fervidly.

She shook her head. "It's not worth your energy, Kat. Patrick knows how to play the media game, and this is merely a political move. But in his heart, he's still the orphaned kid with no money. Do you honestly think he paid for all that music on his iPod?"

I'd never given it any thought. Sharing was just what we did, back and forth with all our pals. No one questioned the source. And why it set me off now was just indicator of my true state of mind. My therapist thought I was cured, but ten years hadn't completely buried the anger. "Probably not."

The other three members of the band arrived and Selina somehow managed to single me out and give me the evil eye. Anj cursed under her breath and said, "I've never liked that girl."

"Me neither. But we all have to play nice and be professional."

"Not for much longer. After this tour, she's history."

My mouth opened into fly catching mode. "_What_? When did this happen?"

"Last night. Patrick contacted his people this morning and it's official." She looked at my expression and added, "Guess he forgot to tell you."

Maybe he'd planned on telling me on the way over this morning. "Guess so," I replied with barely concealed hurt.

Anj patted my shoulder. "Don't let it trouble you. When Patrick remembers not to put his foot in his mouth, he gives it to you straight."

She was right, of course. Despite his mysterious airs and closely guarded private life, Patrick was as honest as they came. Trouble was, he had no crap filter, so he sometimes said exactly what came to mind. "Did he ever mention me to you?" I asked quietly, wondering how widely known our contretemps was.

"Not much, but Rachel talks about you all the time."

Ah, yes, the Aunt Rachel connection. "I heard she's not feeling so great."

"Actually, she's improved a great deal since she met this doctor."

My head snapped up and I almost cracked my skull on some overhead equipment. "Doctor?" I echoed stupidly.

"Yeah, I guess they're complete opposites, but she seems to be crazy about him."

Crap, crap, crap. "Does this guy have a name?"

"Umm, I think it's Wally?" Anj finished tapping in some numbers and looked over at me. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I replied, trotting out my best fake smile and timing it so perfectly, Patrick showed up right at that second.

"Get me out of here," I muttered.

_She called him Wally? _

"What's wrong?" Patrick asked with a slight show of concern.

I threw up my hands and said, "Where do I start? Buy me lunch and I'll spill."

*****

_This girl was meant for me  
And I was meant for her  
This girl was dreamt for me  
And I was dreamt for her_

_I Deserve It, Lyrics by Dean and Britta_

Patrick  
New York

I hailed a cab and directed the driver to Little Italy. There was a tiny cafe tucked away from the street that had the best Italian food in the city. It was also free and clear of stalkerazzi.

Kat was silent for the entire ride, which had to be a world record. From curb to curb in heavy noon hour traffic, I clocked it at 20 minutes. "You up for some Italian?"

"OK." Another one word answer. I was starting to worry.

"What did I do now?" I asked, knowing in advance that it was always my fault and after that was settled, I'd promise never to do it again.

"_Nothing_. Everything." After that overly helpful response, she followed me to our table (farthest from the door) and promptly ordered an espresso.

"Tell me," I said simply, deciding to go for some plain old water with lemon.

"Were you aware," she started, "That Rachel was dating my Dad?"

"_What_?" I chortled. "That's ridiculous. They'd tear each other apart."

Kat shrugged before pinning me back against the booth with a meaningful stare. "Sometimes opposites attract."

Was she inferring something about us? Because she and I were alike in all the ways that mattered. "Look, I know they've been hanging out, but somehow I just can't see Rachel knocking boots with Walter."

She flagged down the waiter and ordered a shot of tequila. "She calls him _Wally_."

I nearly spit out my water on hearing that tidbit. "Are you _serious_?"

"Couldn't make that up if I tried."

Her and Anj had been deep in discussion when I dropped by, so that was Kat's source. And knowing how tight she still was with Rachel, it had to be true. "They _are _consenting adults," I reminded her.

"That's hardly the point, Patrick. First you and I were involved, and all of a sudden, our parental units decide to hook up."

All of a sudden was more like 15 years, but bringing that up was not productive. "It is a little strange, but we'll get used to it."

"Not me."

It took me a few seconds to realize why this was bugging her. Kat was 33, but no one could ever replace her Mom in her eyes. "Give it time," I said gently as the waiter came to take our order.

"I'm not real hungry. How about insalata with a side of shrimp?"

My order was a lot more substantial, because I was ravenous and I knew Kat would end up eating off my plate. "Sure." I rattled off my own order in Italian and ignored Kat's wide-eyed expression.

"When did you pick up Italian?"

"Here and there," I said idly. "So, what else has gotten your panties in a twist?"

Her brows crowded toward the center of her forehead. "Oh, I dunno, maybe the part where you forgot to mention that Selina was leaving the band?"

I smiled weakly. "I wanted to tell you, but you went off on one of your tangents." Better to mention that than my inability to get a word in edgewise.

"Ah, so it's suddenly my fault," Kat said crossly.

This brought me back to the night when I tried to explain why I'd ditched her at the dance, only to end up in yet another fight. "Of course not. I'm easily distracted, and when you started raving about our poster, I lost my focus."

Kat wasn't so easily mollified. "Is that your politically correct way of saying I talk too much?"

There was no way out of this one. "I'm sorry, OK? It slipped my mind."

"Whatever." She tossed back her shot of tequila and tore into the basket of Italian bread. Maybe the booze would mellow her out. Sure enough, in a matter of minutes, a smile crept onto her face.

"There, see? I knew you had it in you," I commented dryly.

"What's that?"

"Humanity." Her face turned sour for a second but quickly reverted to its former status.

"You should talk...vampire."

So we were back to jocularity. "Bet I'm more human than you."

"Prove it," she challenged.

Kat was playing my sort of game, and I was clearly outclassed. "You've got me, Stratford." I pretended to shoot a dart at my heart and keel over. "Now can we be serious for once?"

Our food came, and there was silence for awhile as we dug in. "Serious about what?"

"That stuff we talked about last night." My plate was nearly empty.

She made a face and I wondered if she was thinking more about how the night ended then the part about us collaborating. "What about it?"

Kat was going out of her way to be obtuse. Maybe it _was _easier to play vampire than put up with her nonsense. "Playing songs together. You. Me. Ring any bells?"

"Oh, right."

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you," I scoffed. "When we get back, I'll run through one of the songs with you."

I could see her weighing her words, so apparently one shot didn't make her walk the 'loose lips sink ships' plank. "Sure."

Kat  
New York

Note: Rob Dickinson is a real person, and he is indeed involved with custom Porsche designs, but all the events in this section are fictional.

Last night, I was totally drawn in by Patrick's plan. But in the light of day, starry eyed and laughing turned to cold and terrified. Drowning out my inner demons with a few shots of tequila didn't quell my unease. Those poems were never meant to see the light of day, and now he was planning to publish my innermost turmoil. Airing my dirty laundry for all the world to hear was not in my 5 year plan. It was like letting a stranger walk into my house and rifle through my underwear drawer. How could I tell him this without insulting him? He thought he was doing me a favor. Hell, most people would see this as the chance of a lifetime. But despite my sad attempts to play Rock Band with Bianca (she'd trounced me), I'd never thought to fashion myself as a singer songwriter.

We got back to the club and I was delighted (enthralled, excited, and a hella excuse to avoid hearing my tone poems) to see Rob Dickinson and his coterie of sound techs, fawning fans, and Porsche devotees. Without waiting for an entree, I jogged over to his group and high-fived Rob. We'd met a number of years back when he'd regrouped with the Catherine Wheel, and he remembered me. "Kat Stratford, as I live and breathe. How is that car of yours coming?"

"I finished it. Can you believe it?"

Rob laughed. "This I have to see. Did you bring the car with you?"

"It's back at the Chelsea."

Patrick came to stand next to me and shook Rob's hand. "I see you two have already met."

"I never forget a fellow car enthusiast."

We talked shop for a few more minutes and then Rob excused himself. "How'd you coax him out on tour?" Rob focused almost exclusively on his custom Porsche makeovers and had sidelined his music for quite a long time.

"With wine, women, and song," Patrick joked. "C'mon, let's meet some people."

In a virtual whirlwhind, he swept me through the large space. We pressed the flesh and names and faces flashed by me, and I only grabbed on to the ones that affected my photography. He cut me loose with a promise to go over "our" song before soundcheck. Since the show was all ages, the doors were opening early and Patrick's band would finish before 11. I took advantage of my little hiatus to have fun with the camera, and discovered some camera buffs among Rob's entourage. They invited me to take photos of Rob as he practiced, and I got some great close-ups. Rob tended to sweat a lot, so it was better to get pictures when he wasn't fully immersed in a set.

I saw Patrick discussing something with one of the security goons and judging from their body language, I guessed Patrick had just handed him my list of vampiree devotees. A short time later, I saw from the set lips (security goons _never _have a sense of humor) and frown on Goon A's face that Patrick had won the day. It was time to hightail it, because he'd be looking for a return on his favor.

My long legs almost got me out the stage door, but Luis came in at the exact moment I was exiting. "Going somewhere, Kitten?"

"Just to get some air."

"Aw, you bored with us already?" he joked.

"Of course not." Patrick caught sight of me and moved my way with that resolute face I knew so well.

Luis was no stranger to the weird dynamics between us and he rabbited out of there. "Hey, do you mind? It's kind of warm in there."

"I do mind. You're avoiding me," Patrick complained.

"You're right," I said, pushing him off balance by agreeing with him. "I know you're jazzed about this project, but it makes me uncomfortable."

"But you said...last night, you were jumping with joy." Patrick's eyes were deep wells of ember, and I could get lost in there if I wasn't careful.

"It's a great idea, Patrick. And it's totally sweet. But I'd rather come up with new ideas than dredge up the past."

"But those words are brilliant. People should hear them."

Maybe he was right, and maybe someday I could sing those words and not feel like the fire of a thousand suns was burning me to a crisp. "I'm sorry. I can't do this right now."  
*****

Patrick  
New York

I'd gone all out with these poems, and the music I'd composed was the best of my career. This could be a landmark album, but only if she was along for the ride. We'd call it Penance, and maybe then we could work on mending what was broken all those years ago.

Does she think I don't get it, that I don't understand fear? I've laid it all out there for critics and fans to dissect, and they've had a field day at my expense. But once you moved past the doubts and just got out there and did it, you'd wonder why you waited so long.

I wasn't going to wait around for her approval, I was going to take action and bring these songs to life. Once she heard them, I had no doubt she'd change her mind. That was how powerful they were, and with that female perspective, they'd be even better

Anj helped me find a 4-track and I set it up in the backstage bathroom. Without a glance at my band mates, who were more interested in scoring booze and drugs, I started playing quietly and ran through the 6 songs I'd thrown together. They were rough, but the potential was there. I found my voice cracking on one of the songs and I stopped in mid-strum to center myself, knowing that emotion was getting the best of me. I put both feet in the fire and finally got through the song. "Catharsis," I whispered, thinking the name might stick for that one.

When I finished my session, I packed up the tape for later transfer to digital and returned the deck to Anj. "How's it going with you and Kat?"

"It's not," I retorted.

She looked like she wanted to hug me, but I stepped out of reach. "She's a tough one," Anj commented as Rob took the stage with his scaled down band.

"Yeah." Kat was right up front and she stayed there for most of Rob's performance. To her credit, she was snapping away and doing her job, but I couldn't help but feel if Rob had asked her to record with him, she would have said yes without thinking about it. Why did everything have to be such a chore with her and me?

When it was finally our turn to perform, I felt curiously removed from the whole experience. Selina, Luis, and Brad were in top form, and only I felt myself lagging behind. I was off on the first few songs, and it wasn't until I saw Kat giving me the fist of approval that it all clicked into place. She was all over us with her long lens, and she spent plenty of time capturing Selina. It ended all too soon, and after bumping fists with the guys, I booked time to take a leak. We were doing at least one encore, and maybe two if the others agreed. We went back out there, and did one of our newer songs, and that was a hit with the crowd. I didn't have another encore in me, and I told the band I was hanging it up for the night. They looked a little stunned, and I guess they wondered if I was also leaving the venue. If I could get away with it, I was leaving it all behind for the rest of today.

I packed up my acoustic guitar and some assorted crap and was about to escape through the stage door when I was accosted by a parade of Goths in long capes and theatrical makeup. Accompanying them was Kat, Holly, and Mandella and I knew I was well and truly trapped. The Goth girls surrounded me with outstretched hands and I shrunk away from the tall one with the black tipped nails that managed to snip off a lock of my hair. As Kat came up to me with a falsely bright smile, I hissed, "You're going down for this stunt."

"Is that so?" Kat replied. "Hit me with your best shot, Studly."

The girls all shoved CDs at me and I pointed to a nearby table. "We can do it over there."

"Yes, my Master," the tall girl crooned.

"Let me guess," I commented to Mandella. "These are members of C.O.P."

"Got it in one. Don't worry, they're mostly harmless."

"_Mostly_?" There was a note of panic in my voice that set off a round of giggles from the Goth set. It did nothing to reassure me, and I resigned myself to at least an hour of misery, and then more wretchedness when I got around to wringing Kat's neck for this stunt.

******

Kat  
New York

I can be an asshole. And sometimes I reveled in it.

Like right now, for example.

Payback really was a bitch, as in, me hovering over Patrick with a smug smile that only widened as the throng of shrieking pre-teens closed in on him. They encircled him as if offering him up as a sacrifice to their Night Walker god.

Yup, I had really thrown him under the bus, and I knew his retribution would be swift and memorable. But it was _so_ worth it to see him squirm, and get it all on camera.

Brad handed me a Bass ale before finishing off his own with a loud burp. "I heard you're responsible for this nightmare."

"Sure am," I admitted.

I expected belligerence and got a bump of his fist instead. "Long live the naked mole rats."

That was Brad's way of saying he liked my style. "Why not? It's all in good fun."

He chuckled. "If you say so. All I know is, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

We both looked down at my sneakers. "I can envision cement blocks. What do you think, East River?"

"Nope, it's Hudson all the way, baby."

"Good think I can swim." I'd barely eaten and the Bass hit me like a ton of bricks. With a giggle, I pretended to swim and Brad joined me in my drunken crawl. Soon Luis joined us just for the sake of acting like an idiot, and we collapsed against the wall in laughter. Selina walked by with a shake of her bleached mane and set us off again.

"So, Kitten, I hear you and Patrick might be doing a side project," Luis commented slyly.

"Lies, damned lies," I replied with a tight smile.

"Really?" Brad bathed me in a boozy miasma and moved too close for comfort. 'Cuz we got it straight from Verona."

I stepped away and regained my personal space. "I'm sure he was yanking your chain."

"Doubt it," Brad averred. "He recorded half a dozen songs earlier today. Didn't sound like any chains rattling."

My eyes closed for a moment, and I managed to contain my frustration. "What did he tell you?"

"Just that you'd written some poems that were worth putting to music," Luis explained.

I felt a headache starting up behind one eye. "Is that _all_ he told you?"

He nodded. "That's pretty much it. Can't say I'm surprised. Pat's been itching to record some acoustic stuff, and this will give him that outlet."

I'd been relegated to the realm of side projects, which generally ended up in the cutout bins. "Cool beans," I said, just because I liked the expression after hearing Bianca say it a bunch of times on the phone.

"Better watch out, Kitten. Verona's gunning for you after tonight's stunt, and he may decide to cut you loose."

My eyes widened, but not with anything approaching shock. In fact, this could be the answer to getting him off my back. If I continued to be a brat, he might even toss me off the tour. But when he caught my gaze over the heads of his minions, it wasn't anger that filled those dark eyes. I could be imagining that I saw a grudging admiration, but when he pushed his way through the gawking Goths and headed toward me, I was sure of it.

*******

Patrick  
New York

I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, noting the way her nostrils flared slightly at my profile. Nothing watered down about the effect I had on her. With the smile I rarely bestowed on anyone but her, I said, "You really got me."

"As in the Kinks, or something else?"

"Both by the Kinks, but that's irrelevant."

"Ooh, is this music trivia? Because I am not afraid of you and I will beat your ass."

Yeah, she was definitely more fun when she was even slightly liquored up. "Yo La Tengo," I said with feigned boredom.

"OK, so you know your shit."

Her eyes were sparkling and dancing with good cheer. Her feet tapped in time to Interpol and she swiveled slightly as if dancing in place. I let the aura of Kat fill my senses and breathed in her intoxicating blend of soap, sweat, and Bass ale. Before I could help myself, I closed the already tiny gap between us and traced my fingers down her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. She looked up at my fingers before smiling beatifically and that was the only signal I needed.

I slanted my head and saw a tiny mote of fear cross her face before she let me close the distance. All my pent up longing burst into flame at the first touch of our lips in 15 years. For a second, we stared at each other like a bug had landed on our noses, but that tiny bit of awkward flitted away as I molded my mouth to hers and stole my arm around her waist. Her fingers were tightly clenched, but I felt the exact second she unfurled, opening to me like a blossom to the morning sun.

One hand found my shoulder while the other one distracted itself with the curls that brushed my collar. Neither of us were into PDA, but both of us were so starved for real affection that we no longer cared who was watching, recording, twittering, or posting. Squeals of Goth girl laughter faded to black as I touched her with the tip of my tongue and exploded into a supernova when she let me in. Our teeth collided, and between my curse and her laugh, we got it right and our tongues started the dance that could only end in one place. Swirling, pushing, biting, and sucking turned to gasping as we paused to take a breath.

Sound and motion returned with a smattering of applause and people telling us to get a room. Kat turned crimson and hid her face against my chest. "Get me out of here," she murmured.

"I can't. Promised some college kids I'd give them an interview."

Kat laughed. "Haven't they seen enough?"

Thinking of BTO, I said, "They ain't seen nothing yet."

She punched my arm and telling me to stop listening to crappy 70's rock that was old when her father was in high school. With a laugh, I pushed away from the wall and found the three guys from a local college. They high fived me on my 'hot babe' and drew me off to a quieter area where I let them grill me for the next half hour. But none of it touched me as much as the gift Kat had given me by cracking open the door and giving me another chance.


	4. NY Sky in your Eyes

4. New York-Sky in Your Eyes

Kat  
New York

_And either way you turn, Ill be there, open up your skull  
Ill be there, climbing up the walls_

_Climbing up the walls, lyrics by Radiohead_

I was a bit mortified when Mandella showed me the YouTube clips of me swallowing Patrick whole. Lips, tongue, the works. Hands winding through his hair and trailing down his chest. In front of a gawking crowd of kids and leering band members.

Crawling under a rock was too good for me. Maybe slinking down into the sewer system and hanging with the gators was better. Yeah, I could deal with that.

And what was up with that…fucktabulous…amazing kiss? I've been kissed many times through the years, but no one held a candle to Verona and what he could do with that talented mouth of his. Never mind the burning heat of his hands, those incredibly soft, velvety lips could harden in a microsecond and bear down on me like he was making love to my lips, which he was in a way.

That moment had outed us to the world at large. Everyone fucking knew about us. There were clips on E and every media outlet that followed Patrick printed photos of us macking. And the weirdest part of all was how little I cared.

I should be screaming and ripping my hair out, but I was totally down with it and continued to watch the clip on my iPhone. Was it lurid fascination or my insane desire to tear my clothes off and have my way with the man-boy? Sure, I was horny as hell after more than 6 months of celibacy, but it had to be more than that. It made me wet nearly every time I viewed it, and by the time he made an appearance, I was climbing the walls.

He looked especially fine in a black T-shirt and skintight blue jeans that favored every curve of his delicious ass. "Hey," he murmured softly. "We're front page news."

"Oh, goody," I replied with an eye roll. "Was that kiss your way of paying me back for yesterday?"

Patrick flashed me an enigmatic smile. "Nice try, Stratford, but you're still in deep shit."

"Ooh, I'm quaking," I retorted. "You really think you can outclass me?"

He crinkled his eyes mischievously. "I know so."

"You and the guys have a pool going?"

"Of course. You want in on the action?"

"Bet against myself? How novel."

"Aw, don't be a spoilsport." Patrick was well pleased with himself and I enjoyed his secretive little smile, even if it meant ill favored winds were blowing in my direction.

"Did you come here to gloat, or was there some other reason for your visit?"

He pretended to produce a flower from behind his back. "Other than the chance to see your lovely face, absolutely nothing…but this." Patrick dug his fingers in his back pocket and handed a CD to me.

He'd marked the word Penance on the disk with a Sharpie. "Are these my true confessions?"

"Indeed they are. Recorded with two mikes and a 4 track. Throw it on your iPhone and wear it for awhile. Chew on it. Let it stick and see what comes out. Maybe you'll hate it, or maybe you'll hear the same thing I do. And maybe you'll get inspired like that chick in Once and add your own branding."

Patrick was the least demanding guy I knew, so the fact that he had gone ahead with this meant he really believed in this project. He wasn't into self-flagellation and probably wasn't subjecting himself to the intensity and anger of my words to punish himself for long ago deeds. "OK," was all I said.

"That's it? You're not going to rip off the top of my skull or hang me from the rafters by a hook?"

"That's your department," I joked. "But I might tie you on the tracks if you don't behave."

"Ooh, now we're talking, sweetheart," Patrick countered with a smirk. With an idle glance at my camera bag, he asked, "You have plans for today?"

"Yup." I didn't elaborate and he raised a curious eyebrow.

"Am I invited?"

"Nope." It was girls only. Mandella and I were going up to St. John the Divine to bathe in the Gothic magnificence within its still unfinished walls, then we planned on doing an art crawl through some of her favorite museums. We'd finish up with a late supper with Holly and then split up for the night.

"But you're coming tonight, right?" Patrick lowered his gaze and I saw an unexpected sign of insecurity as he scuffed his foot. It was completely adorable and warmed me to a feverish state.

"Sure." For a moment, his torrid gaze scorched my face and I raised my hands to my heated cheeks.

That gesture brought his smoking hot smile out to play and I felt dazed as he leaned in and brushed my lips lightly with his. "I'll be waiting," he said softly.

*****

Patrick  
New York

_You only get a moment in the eye of the storm  
You can catch your breath before stumbling on_

_Peace is Only, Lyrics by New Model Army_

New York in the spring is when a man's fancies turn to mad dogs and Englishmen of the Catherine Wheel variety.

Rob D. and I met downstairs in the lobby and discussed this evening's performance. "So what do you think, should we try a duet on Mad Dog?" Rob asked with a wide smile. "After all, you've made the song your own."

He was very kind. "Thanks. And that would be great."

"Is Kat around? I wanted to check out her car."

I shrugged. "She's playing hooky."

"Running away already? That's not a good start," Rob said with a laugh, for he had also witnessed our big moment last night.

My answering smirk covered up the insecurity that had never completely left me when it came to Kat. "She's probably hanging out with her friend."

"So you can show me the car then."

Why the hell not? "Sure. Follow me."

We spent a good hour going over the finer points of the Camaro and I felt my admiration rising at the painstaking restoration Kat had done to this car.

"Not many women would take this on," Rob said.

"She's one in a million."

"That she is, mate. Hold on tight to that one."

I smiled at the thought of anyone restraining Kat. She would break free and wave her feminist banner high. "I'll try."

"I'll see you later then."

My thoughts turned to payback, and what I had in store for Kat was certain to send her over the edge. With a smile, I texted her about meeting up at the Plaza around 4. That would cut short her fun, and launch my own brand of merriment.

*****

Kat  
New York

_We arced into the city and back into the night  
And now I don't know which is earth and which is the sky_

_Peace is Only, Lyrics by New Model Army_

Mandella and I had finished our art crawl and were sitting in an upscale boutique that belonged to one of her fashion design friends. They were fussing over us from top to bottom, and I felt rather pampered as they tinted strands of my hair with cerulean and matched it to some high gloss nail polish. The stylist then piled my hair in artful coils and fixed tem to my skull with chopsticks (not actually, but a close approximation).

My dress for the evening was a black Chinese silk wrap dress with red, purple, and blue shot through it. When I gazed at myself in the cheval glass, I was stunned by my transformation from Riot Grrl to Butterfly. My kicks were on the flat side, and comfortable enough to walk all over the city.

"Bianca would heart this," I commented archly, making sure Mandella took plenty of photos with my Leica compact. The better to flash in Bianca's face when I showed up in San Diego in a month or so. That is, if I survived this tour without being thrown off a cliff by a bunch of former mechanics.

With that cheerful thought bouncing around my espresso-fueled brain, I was distracted by the chime of an incoming text. It was from Patrick, and he was throwing down an imperious command to meet him at the Plaza in less than an hour. "What the hell is he up to?" I muttered, barely able to contain my irritation at having my perfect day interrupted.

In a flash, I knew it was time for whatever form of hell he'd planned for me, and he'd enjoy every last second of serving up his cold dish of revenge.

I got to my feet with a sigh and looked over at Mandella with remorse. "I've been summoned."

Her mouth formed an O of understanding. "Anything I can help with?"

"Dunno. He's being all mysterious, and he's got that down to a science."

"Ah, well if he lets you off the hook, you know where to find me."

I gave her a hug. "Thanks for everything, and if I don't see you, good luck with Holly."

******

_One part left behind, one part already gone  
And one part standing here with sky in your eyes_

_Sky in your eyes, Lyrics by New Model Army_

Patrick  
New York

I didn't recognize her at first. But when it began to register, my jaw dropped along with the gaggle of Girl Scouts who were hanging with me. "Wow, I should let you off the leash more often, Stratford."

Kat looked over her square black frames and cocked her head. "_Woof_. So why are all these kids here? They hitting you up for thin mints?"

My smile was a shade warmer than the cool air, for she'd actually remembered that Rachel stockpiled them for me so I'd have them when I came off the road. "Not this time. They're here for you."

"Why?" Then she spotted the rather tall Girl Scout with the purple and black outfit, topped off by a beret (black) and packing a heavy Hasselblad camera and her eyes narrowed at me. "Oh my God."

The troop leader moved around from behind me. "You must be Kat. I'm Holly's sister Jane and my girls are thrilled to be working with you on their camera badge."

"Camera badge?" Kat squeaked, her rising panic revealed by her fluttering hands and her customary lip gnawing.

"The girls have chosen to photograph a fashion show, and what better person to show them tips and tricks than an award-winning photographer?

"Oh, this gets better by the second," Kat hissed, her hands forming a noose that she pretended to hang over my head. "How could you do this to me?"

I murmured, "Think of it as penance, for letting that mob loose on me yesterday."

Kat pasted on a phony smile that meant big trouble later on. "So what kind of fashion show did you girls have in mind?"

A cacophony of pre-teen voices sounded simultaneously. When the furor died down, the little Kat wannabe stated, "Toddlers and Tiaras is filming here today."

Kat turned faintly green and I thought she was about to hurl on my expensive, Italian boots. "Really? And I just bet you girls have tickets."

The entire troop waved their tickets and the bravest one piped up again. "We better get moving or we'll miss the show."

Kat replied, "That would be _such_ a shame. Do you have a ticket for me too?"

Jane's hand flew to her mouth. "We goofed, but I'm sure you can buy a ticket at the door."

"Sure I can," Kat said flatly. She bumped her shoulder hard against me and whispered, "You totally suck, Verona."

I rubbed at my shoulder. "Can't say I didn't warn you."

With a sour twist to her lips, she turned her back on me and followed the girls into the hotel

*****

Kat  
New York

There aren't words strong enough to describe my hatred of reality shows. I had no problem with adults making complete fools of themselves, but parents subjecting their kids to the sort of competition these tiny tots got tangled up in was beyond heinous.

What was wrong with these people beyond the obvious fact that they were insane and should have been neutered before puberty hit? I was so incensed that Patrick had gotten me caught up in this frenzy of screaming kids and helicoptering moms that I could barely speak.

I managed to get a seat with the troop and out came their cameras. Apparently, Jane had prearranged for them to get close to the runway. I gathered them around me and lectured them about improper use of flash and how it was useless for anything but close-ups. Within a minute, they got that dazed look that I recognized as boredom and started fidgeting. "You think you can remember that?" I said as I set up my Nikon F6 and took some incident meter readings off a few brightly lit faces.

The only scout who looked remotely interested was my purple and black shadow, and she nodded eagerly and wrote it down in her little book. She nudged my arm and said, "This wasn't my idea. I was overruled."

"What did you vote for?"

"The Grease Monkeys show at the Irving Plaza."

"Maybe we can work something out," I answered with a slight smile.

"Really? Will you be there too?"

"Could be. OK, girls, here's a few ground rules. These shows are all about the attitude and the cool clothes, and even better if you can capture the drama of the winning or losing moment."

One tiny blonde stated, "Nobody cares about losers."

"Sure they do. Any type of emotion that tells a story is worth capturing."

I gave them a quick tutorial on using the half press of the shutter to lock exposure and focus and sighed when I saw at least half a dozen disposable cameras. "Any questions?"

The little blonde raised her hand. "Yeah, are you giving us a test on this?"

Janet caught my eye and shook her head no. I ignored her and said, "Absolutely. You better know every last fact on aperture and shutter speed."

They looked horrified, but their groans were drowned out by the announcer coming on stage. From that moment forward, I suppressed my personal feelings about such events and let the girls' excitement wash over me, reminding me that Bianca used to be just like these girls and had even been a Brownie for two years. My shadow (her name was Donna) attached herself to me and I was rather amazed by her handling of a medium format camera. She knew the controls like a pro and shoved her way to the front and framed some shots that looked like keepers.

"Who taught you how to use that camera?" I asked over the ear-piercing shrieks of a thousand little girls.

"My Dad. He said if I can master this camera, I can use anything."

"He's right. Try this." I pulled my F6 off my neck and offered it to her.

Donna shook her head. "No thanks. I like my camera just fine."

The rest of the event went smoothly and I jotted down my cell number for Donna. "Call me at this time tomorrow and we'll see if I can get you in."

Jane thanked me and said the girls had learned a lot. I smiled and said, "So did I. It was fun," and to my astonishment, I was speaking the complete truth.

The troop gave me collective hugs and told me I should be the one on the runway. I suddenly remembered my makeover and asked Jane if she could take a photo of me with the girls. She looked askance at my F6 and I told her it was all set and all she had to do was press the shutter. The girls quickly faded into the crowd and I was left watching the masses depart.

It was just after 6 and I was famished, so I found some food in the hotel restaurant and scarfed it down. There were three text messages waiting, one from Mandella and two from Patrick. I answered Mandella's and ignored Patrick's. I was no longer upset with him, but I needed the night off to focus on my own needs. And with that, I decided to head to the New Model Army show at the Mercury Lounge. A good old dose of scathing, political punk would do me some good and set me back to rights.

*****

Patrick  
New York

I still can't believe Kat blew me off. She said she'd show up, and I believed her. Was I crazy to think there was hope for us? Apparently so.

Kat had established a pattern early in our former relationship, and whenever something scared her, she kept me at arm's length or avoided me altogether. Obviously, I had shown my hand too early and was not only going to lose this round, I was going to lose her altogether.

My fingers clenched and I took a lot of deep breaths before I calmed down. Maybe I was overreacting and this was all about the rather mean trick I'd played on her. But damn, she had to know that turnabout was fair play where I was concerned.

That wasn't enough of a reason to stay away, so it must be the PDA thing. If some girl had done that to me, I probably would freak out too, especially if I didn't feel the same way. Trouble is, I was dead certain that Kat returned my feelings.

I did a sound check with the band, practiced with Rob, and did the meet and greet thing with radio and magazine folks. My favorite half hour was spent with a writer from The Big Takeover, a well-known indie mag that had been big supporters of our early work. I didn't forget those who had taken care of us, so I returned the favor whenever I could. Even someone from Pitchfork showed up, and I reassured (with gritted teeth) her that Kat had tons of photos. When the lady asked where Kat was, I shrugged and excused myself before she demanded an explanation.

When I pushed through the crowd, I saw Mandella waving at me from the entrance and I dashed over there posthaste. "Tell me," I said shortly, drawing Mandella away from the entrance and into a relatively quiet corner.

There was no hesitation in her answer. "She's at the Mercury Lounge."

"Why?"

"It's complicated." Which meant, it was none of my business and probably had nothing to do with me.

I chewed on that for a second. "Spill it."

"Kat and I spent the day together, and I just happened to mention…well, New Model Army is playing there tonight."

"And?"

"She cut her punk teeth on NMA, and they were one of her mother's favorite bands. Apparently, her Mom was pretty friendly with the lead singer."

As soon as Mandella played the Mom card, I felt my negativity and anger rush away from me. "Any idea why she couldn't tell me that herself?"

Mandella answered, "I don't answer for her, Patrick. If it bugs you so much, then head up there after your show ends. NMA is taking the stage after 10, so you can still catch them."

NMA was an awesome, fiercely intelligent band with a charismatic lead singer. They'd been playing for more than 30 years, and on some level, I knew what they meant to Kat. So it would be quite simple to fly over there after the concert and catch up with her. That is, if she was even talking to me after dumping a bunch of Girl Scouts in her lap.

*****

Kat  
New York

Justin Sullivan was a god and his solo album was one of my top ten favorites. I owned every NMA album and knew every lyric by heart. Their work throbbed with this righteous anger that I understood, for we were brothers and sisters under the skin.

NMA helped dust me off after Patrick broke my heart, and their well-placed aggression against the war machines and Thatcher's tyranny in England struck deep chords with me. So when Mandella told me they were playing, I didn't hesitate to find my way to one of my favorite Manhattan clubs.

A good and dutiful person would have let their lesser half know where they were off to, but I was neither of these. And it wasn't like Patrick and I had any real understanding beyond the last few kisses. I was long past making something out of nothing, because it burned me every time.

The band was three songs into their set when Patrick made his entrance. I knew the very second it happened, because the crowd shifted their attention away from the stage. With a half turn of my head, I saw him lurking in back, hand over his eyes as he searched the room. I was standing in the shadows, but he'd find me soon enough.

It took him all of five minutes to pinpoint my location, and less than 30 seconds to find his way to my side. When States Radio ended, he stared at me intensely. "You blew me off for this bunch of clowns?"

"Keep it down," I muttered. "I can see you anytime, but these guys don't come around very often."

"So you thought you'd do what, come here and wallow in your grief?" Patrick's question was flippant, but his tone was curiously gentle.

Mandella had gone to him. It had to be, because I'd never spoken of my Mom's connection to this band. She'd been the ultimate fan girl, following them across the country whenever they came Stateside, and befriending the lead singer on one particular trip to the Left Coast. That all ended when she met my Dad, and she never attended another concert. All that was left of her obsession was a wide space on my bookshelves for all her NMA vinyl. But wait, I was wrong, wasn't I? Her obsession lived on in me, and I'd carried her torch down through the years.

"That's my choice," I replied after a long beat, my words suddenly drowned out by the roar of Today is a Good Day.

He leaned over and said, "I wasn't judging you."

I returned my attention to the band and smiled when his hand found mine, squeezing it slightly before entwining his fingers rather intimately with mine. Heat pierced through me, a welcome distraction from my maudlin musings of the past few hours. "I know," I said against his ear.

We were standing so close that I felt rather than saw the smile that broke out on his face. "So you really are excited to see me," he exclaimed when the song ended.

Echoes of that long ago Filthy Souls concert brought my own grin out to play. "Naw, it's just gas."

His answering chuckle vibrated through me to the soles of my sensible shoes. "That's what they all say."

The band played four more numbers before leaving the stage. I knew they would do at least two encores, but figured we had a good five minutes before they came back out. "Sorry I broke my promise to you."

"Which one?" Patrick said with a smirk.

"I said I'd show up, and decided to come here instead."

"It's OK," he said with a shrug.

The shrug told me it wasn't completely OK. "Maybe, but I should have texted you back."

I wasn't used to being beholden to anyone, and to be accountable to Patrick, who answered to no one, was not something I could wrap my head around like now. So I resorted to silence and didn't protest when he wrapped one arm around me and hugged me to his warm, muscular frame. A few women looked at me enviously and on some level, I realized I was enjoying this.

As predicted, NMA came back and did 8 more songs. When the show ended, it was after 1, and my ears were buzzing from the volume. "I need sleep," I said through a yawn.

"My place or yours?" Patrick asked with a teasing smile.

"Wherever I land." We got in a cab and my head fell against his shoulder. I didn't remember much of the cab ride, so I must have fallen asleep. The sound of honking and laughter startled me awake, and I saw we were almost at the Chelsea.

Patrick helped me back to my room and finished the night with a kiss to my forehead and a promise to take me to breakfast. Before I could form any coherent thought, he was gone and I was stumbling back into my room. The camera bag landed on the table and my purse fell to the floor. I somehow managed to undress myself and clean my face and fell backward onto the bed and knew nothing more until the ungodly hour when someone started hammering at my door.

*****

Patrick  
New York

_Girl, I've known you now for a long, long time  
How much longer you need to make up your mind?_

_Yours for the Taking, Lyrics by The Disciplines_

Kat was a creature of the night and barely stirred before 9 every morning. Which was why it was so much fun to roust her out of bed at 8 AM. It was sure to annoy her, and start our day off right with some piss and vinegar.

She looked at me blearily through a crack in the door. "Do you have a death wish, Verona?"

I held up her favorite blend of coffee and let her catch its aromatic steam. "I come with java and cinnamon crullers from your favorite place on the West Side."

Kat pushed open the door and I caught a lucky flash of her long, tanned legs before she disappeared behind the bathroom door. "And that gives you a pass? Think again."

"Aww, did I interrupt your beauty sleep? Looks like it missed you."

"Right back at ya," she shouted.

I heard the shower running and smiled as I sipped at my coffee. Her laptop was open and I noticed she had Adobe Bridge open. Guessing that some of her concert photos were in there, I turned it toward me and was rewarded by a series of superb shots from our past few days in Manhattan. Some of my favorites were of the guys goofing around. Then I found the sequence she had made of me and Selina arguing and those had me riveted.

The power and intensity of those emotions was so striking they practically leaped off the screen. It essayed the end of a relationship and the start of Kat being the band's Yoko, however much she would deny it.

In another window, I saw that she had copied tracks off the CD I had given to her. That was a start, but I had to keep my eagerness in check.

My attention returned to the photos and I thought about my temporary rehearsal space and what I could do with no one else around. Few people knew my personal preferences for writing music, but I might just allow myself the luxury of doing whatever I damn well pleased in a space I had paid for. And oh, if I just happened to let it slip that I'd be amenable to some close up work in late afternoon light, I could only hope she would take me up on it.

The shower stopped and I turned the laptop back to its original position. It was no more than a minute or two later when she popped out, looking extremely delectable in a T-shirt and shorts. Not much was restraining her lovely bits and I greatly enjoyed the show as she combed out her hair, her arms reaching overhead a few times and stretching her shirt across her chest. Kat caught me watching and threw on a robe that ended my enjoyment.

Her dark eyes probed mine, but I gave nothing away except a smirk. "Are we more civilized now?"

She rolled her eyes before taking a long swallow of coffee. "Depends on what you mean. Will I club you over the head and kick you in the nuts? Probably not."

I pretended to wince. "Good to know. So what would happen if I tried to kiss you?"

Kat brought up her arms in a boxer stance. "Try it and see."

Ooh, this was the feisty gal that set my senses reeling. "Only if you try it first."

Her hands dropped to her hips. "I'm tired, not brain dead."

"Noted. I'll leave you and your peerless wit with a side of cruller. And if you free up some time later this afternoon, stop by the rehearsal space with your camera. I expect the light will be great and maybe we can get some candids."

All it took was the mention of good light to put the sparkle back in her eyes. "Sounds perfect."

I flashed her favorite smile and crinkled my eyes. "Then it's a date."

*****

Kat  
New York

_I'm ready to crack the whip for you now  
Put my heart and soul in it  
Crash and burn for you now  
Don't you know, I'm yours for the taking_

_Yours for the Taking, Lyrics by The Disciplines_

I lowered myself into one of the chairs after he left and acknowledged that I wanted him rather a lot. I hadn't missed the way his eyes darkened into ebony pools as I stroked the comb slowly across my scalp, which could have turned into something if I hadn't covered up.

As that old lady said so long ago, life is short, and my days on this tour weren't getting any longer. Trouble was, Patrick was treating me with kid gloves and I could almost swear he was courting me. He'd put everything he had into that kiss from the other day and then backed the hell off to a safe distance. It was almost like he was waiting for me to make the next move. In the meantime, I had this precious gem of a day to myself, and I wanted to spend it immersed in his music.

It took a few seconds to copy the mp3 files to my iPhone, and another few minutes to dress properly for my day long walkabout. As I kitted myself up with my camera backpack and some snacks, my phone notified me of an incoming text.

I smiled as I read the note from my youngest fan, whose name was Stephanie. Her mother said she could meet me at 3 for an hour or so. That would tie in nicely with my visit to Patrick's rehearsal space, and give her exclusive exposure to one of the indie world's hottest stars. I was pretty sure Patrick wouldn't care, and we both could handle one 10-year-old with a Patrick crush.

No need to interrupt his work with something so minor. I texted back with a time and location and put on my wireless ear buds. They were the best invention ever, and were so featherweight I could barely feel them in my ear. But the sound they delivered was of concert hall clarity, and they were worth every penny.

I slipped a digital recorder into my pocket in case I got inspired, and my Taser fit easily into the inner pocket of my jacket. With that, I was ready to rock. My feet hit the stairs and I fell into a jog as soon as I hit the streets, passing the 9-5 crowd on my way to the park. When I finally hit open space, I spun around in glee to have this small bit of freedom on a spectacular day. A few people gave me strange looks and I finally stopped my revolutions.

With a small bit of trepidation, I found Patrick's songs and pressed Play. The first song was splendid, framing one of my first poems with intricate finger picking that bordered on baroque. As he wound through the stanzas. I started humming in counterpoint and knew it was time for my recorder. Just as the young woman in Once had done, I began singing in a higher register and easily found the harmonies I wanted to use.

The second song was equally stunning, and was so minimized that I barely heard the scraping of his fingertips across the strings. His voice stroked the words like misty smoke and the song ended with sounds drifting to a single droplet of water.

I stopped near a fountain and knew there was nothing to fear from Patrick. He had taken my scattered, messy thoughts and channeled them into pristine perfection.

The third and fourth songs rolled by, and I fell in again with my own take on the vocals. Song number five hit me squarely in the chest and I felt myself gasping from the pain in his voice, emoting every feeling so expertly that it scraped me raw all over again. His voice cracked on the bridge and the heaviness in his tone told me it had touched his soul.

The last song was an original composition and he spoke directly to me, begging for my forgiveness, as if he hadn't had that a long time ago. Tears fell down my cheeks in rivulets that dampened my shirt and dotted the screen of my iPhone. I rubbed it against me and listened to his dusky dark voice asking for another chance, for life was short and he had always been at the door waiting for me.

I stopped after the last note echoed away and wiped my tears away, feeling the last of my walls crumbling away as if blown out of existence by the freshening spring breeze.

******

Patrick  
New York

Here is my dirty little secret. I write music in the nude as often as I can get away with it. It had nothing to do with getting lucky (that's never been a problem), though some guys would use that angle.

Back in the day, I used to earn money posing for art students at San Diego State, and was so accustomed to shedding my clothes that it felt natural and comfortable.

Cool spring air washed over me and ruffled the hair on my chest. With a shiver, I wrapped my legs around my cello and started working on a new song about finding love later in life. I had Rachel in mind with this one, but it could just as easily apply to me.

I'd picked up the cello and piano along my musical journey, and they were part of my instrumental arsenal. Cello was a particular favorite, because its overall size forced me to slow down and think about each note. It also felt right in my hands and its mournful tone suited my personality.

So there I was, waiting for my lady in all my naked splendor, hoping she could photograph this private side of me for our book. And if I got more than I bargained for, then I'd be the luckiest man alive.

It was just after 4 when I heard her sylvan tones emanating from the concrete jungle that surrounded us, and every part of me jumped to attention.

*****

Kat  
New York

Stephanie carried her father's aging D300 and was particularly psyched to try it out on Patrick. I knew it was an excellent model and would serve her nicely.

I carried my film camera, which could still outdo my digital cameras on dynamic range. It was also my favorite camera to use on black and white work. The monochromatic colors of the rehearsal space would lend themselves well to black and white slide film.

We mounted the stairs and nattered away about this and that and when we got to the top, both of us were struck speechless by the sight of Patrick in his birthday suit.

Kaleidoscopic emotions sent me spinning with thoughts of lust, horror, and the insane desire to laugh my head off. That all shut down when I remembered my guest, and her puppy dog crush on Patrick.

"Oh my God," Stephanie whispered, and that was enough to turn his head. He looked between me and Steph in disbelief, and stayed hidden behind his cello.

Before I could stop her, Steph started firing off a bunch of shots, which brought my hand up over her lens. "No."

She jerked her camera out of my grasp. "Why? You promised exclusive coverage."

I felt a chuckle bubbling in my chest. "_What_ coverage?"

"You can't make me stop," Stephanie retorted with a bratty edge in her voice.

"Want to make a bet?" With a deft twist of my wrist, I flipped open the door to her compact flash card and palmed it. "You're done. Now scram."

Steph braved one last look at Patrick. "I'm going to tell the world about his secret."

"No one will believe you," I shot back, not caring that I was staring down a kid with my best evil eye.

"Yeah, thanks to you stealing my photos."

I grabbed her arm and started dragging her toward the door. "It's time to go. And no one is stealing anything. Your shots are history as soon as I get a chance to erase them."

"You expect me to believe that? You'll steal them and take the credit for _my_ work."

"Get lost." I had lost patience with this kid, who was a stalker in training.

Stephanie finally clattered down the stairs and I put my head in my hands and sighed. "What the hell is going on here, Verona?"

He started leaving the safety of his cello and I averted my gaze. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Look, you never said I couldn't bring anyone. And I didn't sign up for nude photos on this tour. Next thing you'll be asking me is taking shots of the other guys with strategically placed tools over their private parts."

Patrick towered over me and it took every ounce of self control to keep my eyes off the prize. "Hey, why didn't I think of that?"

"Shut up," I replied lightly. "Would you mind getting dressed?"

"Actually, yeah, I kind of do. We have perfect afternoon light and a great mix of shadows and highlights. It would make a great artsy print for the book."

I hated to admit that he had a point (other than the one pointed straight at me) and I finally waved him toward his cello. "OK, we can try a few shots. But no hanky panky."

Patrick snickered. "Now you sound just like Walter. Except, I didn't keep it in my pants."

Before he went back to his posing stool, I took a nice, long look at his amazing back muscles and an ass that should be declared the eighth wonder of the world. Hard to believe he had improved over his hunky teenage body, but he topped the charts in every category. "Thank God," I murmured under my breath, thinking he should keep the whole package on display.

He looked over his shoulder and caught me gawking. "Missed me, didn't you?"

I brought my camera up and started shooting from a bunch of different angles. My fast zoom lens allowed me to get up close and personal without moving in too close. It captured the planes of his body and the sharp details of his tattoos. The shadows were perfect and turned his face into an interesting yin and yang composition. I had to focus intensely on my work to avoid melting into a pile of goo. My body was yelling at me to jump his bones, while my mind coolly reminded me that I had a job to do. By the time I finished, sweat was soaking my shirt and I knew I smelled bad. "Time to head back," I said, staring through my curtain of hair as he dressed.

"You sure? We could hang out and go over those songs." His voice was heavy with desire and I wanted more than anything to show him what they meant to me. But not here in this place, with its industrial grime permanently etched into the floor.

"Not here," I replied.

Patrick moved in so close that any reminders about personal space were lost as his lips found my neck. "But you taste so good."

His mouth found my pulse and bit that area lightly. "Patrick…" I said with a moan.

"I love the way you say my name when you're turned on." His fingers started tracing the edge of my neckline and stopped in the vee between my breasts.

My hand came up and stopped him from exploring further. "Please."

Patrick kissed my knuckles with a mischievous smile. "Please what?"

"Let's wait for the right time and place."

"And when will that be?"

"Maybe tonight."

And with that little tease, I started packing away my camera, but now before he caught my hand and pulled me into his arms. "You're not getting away that easy."

"Oh no?"

Patrick's answer was a rather aggressive assault on my mouth. He kissed me so hard that I stumbled back into the wall, returning his kiss with equal ferocity. Our mouths sawed back and forth until he stunned me by slowing down the thrusts of his tongue to an almost glacial pace that curled my toes and destroyed any remaining barriers between us. It was quite awhile before he let me go, and both of us were panting like horny rhinos. "So, I guess I'll see you after the show," I said when speech was finally restored.

"Count on it."

******

Patrick  
New York

The shit hit the fan at our final show at the Irving Plaza.

Kat was somewhere in the crowd taking photos and I was joking around with Anj when the stalker scout's Mom showed up with a cop.

They targeted me right away and I swore under my breath as they pushed people aside to get at me.

The lady was practically foaming at the mouth by the time she reached me. "You disgusting pervert. How dare you expose yourself to my daughter? I'm bringing you up on multiple charges."

I murmured to Anj, "Get Joe over here." Joe was one of my lawyers who specialized in extracting me from tricky situations.

She nodded and started punching a number into her cell.

There were any number of snarky responses I could trot out for such an officious occasion, but they'd probably all land me in the slammer. After several turns in the overnight lockup, I had no desire to repeat the experience. "Officer, ma'am, what happened today was an accident."

"He's lying," the lady started.

The officer cut her off with a downward chop of his hand. "Let him finish."

"I had no idea that my girlfriend was bringing someone with her today."

I heard Kat moving closer and she was suddenly at my side. "What's this about?"

The last thing I needed was her going off on this lady and blowing the molehill into Mount Everest. "Kat, stay out of it," I warned, knowing she would ignore me and stumble into the conversation like a bull in a china closet.

She hissed impatiently and glared at Stephanie's mom. "Look, lady, you're way out of line."

"Am I? You're the one who exposed my daughter to this…filth," she sputtered.

Kat's lips twitched at the word exposed but she managed to contain herself. "It wasn't on purpose," she retorted.

"Is that supposed to make it better? Stephanie might be scarred for life."

"Are you kidding me? Your innocent lamb took a dozen shots before I could stop her, and she tried to keep taking them even after I told her to stop."

Stephanie's mom (who lost her identity after having kids) looked a bit uncertain. "That's not what she told me."

Kat handed over the storage card (now reformatted). "I suppose she said I stole this. Please give this back to her."

The lady stared hard at Kat. "With those disgusting pictures on there? You can burn it for all I care."

"Don't worry. I erased the pictures."

"Oh…OK." The lady took the flash card from Kat and looked back at the cop, who merely looked bored.

"Mary, are you pressing charges or not?"

All the fire seemed to go out of Stephanie's mom—Mary for short—and she finally shook her head. "No, I guess this was another example of Stephanie's imagination gone wild."

"You think?" Kat said in my ear.

Mary looked between me and Kat and wagged her finger at us. "I don't know what kind of sick little games you two are up to, but at least have the decency to keep it private."

Kat looked ready to kick Mary in the shins and only my hand on her bicep stopped her from turning into Mt. Vesuvius. "We'll keep that in mind."

After Mary was out of earshot, Kat swore a few times before kicking a trash can. "No wonder that kid is so messed up."

I slid my hand down to her elbow. "Try to calm down and enjoy the show. You missed my duet with Rob last night. Tonight we're tackling a different song, and we have a surprise guest."

"Cool. I'll be ready with my camera."

Somehow I didn't think she'd need it for this performance.

******

Kat  
New York

I was still fuming over Stephanie the Stalker when The Grease Monkeys came on stage. They were at the top of their game, and people in the crowd said it was easily the best of their three nights.

Rather than recycle the same old performance shots, I tried shooting from different angles and included fans in some of the photos. On one number, I caught Patrick reaching down and high fiving a bunch of fans in the front row. A bit later, he confronted some C.O.P. members that tried stage diving and looked so menacing that they all scurried away in fright. It made for another classic series of shots.

The show went by so quickly that I lost track of all the songs they performed. The first encore came and Patrick invited Rob onto the stage. The cheering was deafening as they started playing Mad Dog, my favorite song from Wishville. And hearing the two of them harmonize almost made me swoon. Sensual, angelic men's voices were a rarity, but two in the same room, looking and sounding like they did caused a frenzy among all the hormonal women in the audience, who rushed the stage in a scene that seemed pulled straight out of A Hard Day's Night. I was laughing so much that I found it difficult to steady my hands and capture it all.

They stayed on the stage and Rob started talking about the next song. "Does anyone remember Judy?"

The crowd roared back with, "Staring at the Sun."

"Too bad Tanya's not here to sing this with us," Patrick commented, referring to the gorgeous singer from The Breeders, Belly, and Throwing Muses. "But I do have someone else in mind. My girlfriend likes to sing, and she knows this one by heart."

What the hell? After all we'd been through…how could he stand up there and talk about someone else? But then I saw him staring straight at me with an outstretched hand. "Me?" I squeaked.

"Come on down, Kat. You're the next singer on the new Name that Tune," Brad joked from behind his drum kit.

That broke through my anxiety and I managed a small smile as I grabbed Patrick's hand and got on stage. I made the mistake of looking out at the crowd and nearly fainted at the sheer number of people. "Oh my God," I whispered. "You better hope I don't survive this ordeal."

"Why's that?" Patrick smirked as he covered the microphone that he handed to me.

"Because you'll go down with me, Verona."

He leered at me. "I sure hope so. Time to get over your stage fright, princess."

His Harrison Ford impression was so dead-on that I giggled. Rob grinned at me and started picking a few notes, and those two tiny gestures set me at ease.

The song floated along effortlessly and kicked me into auto pilot. When Tanya's parts came up, I opened my mouth and it sounded freaking awesome. Was that really me echoing back at me from my stage monitor? I was shocked by how big and bold my voice sounded, easily soaring over the two guys a few times. I throttled back a bit and this earned me a thumb's up from Patrick. Before I knew it, the song ended and the crowd went crazy. I actually heard people chanting my name, and they called for another song.

"Let's do Crank," Rob suggested, and that was the culmination of one of the best nights of my life.

All too soon, the show was over and it was time to part ways with one of my favorite cities. So much had happened in the past few days, and I doubted the rest of the tour would come close to matching my experience here in New York.

But more than that, a gorgeous man had offered his heart and soul to me, and all I had to do was walk to his open door and accept his offer. Was I up to the task? Was I even worth the bother? He seemed to think so, but I had my doubts.

******

Patrick  
New York

_No one sees you as you really are  
No one knows you  
No one knows how  
No place feels like home  
Need a change  
And there's no time like now_

No Time Like Now, Lyrics by Translator

Believe it or not, I do have a brain behind my thick fog of testosterone. And even when my sex drive is kicked into high gear like it has been for the past few days, I do think about consequences.

Like what would happen if I made love to Kat without asking permission first? Would she put up a fight if I pulled her into my suite and gave in to the feelings that have been strangling me?

I don't think so, because I think they've been hamstringing her too.

We've both tried to play by the rule book of life and have failed miserably, but what if we were only bound by rules we made up?

Some would argue that an open relationship is the best way to fly for a guy like me. That way I can have my honey at home and as many senoritas as I can handle on the side.

When I met Kat in high school, I swore off other women during the whole time we were together. After I dumped her so brutally, I went on sex sprees and boned as many girls as I could stand. That got rather old, so I got a bit pickier about my conquests. Unfortunately, it all ended in the same empty place.

The hole in my heart never healed, and no amount of searching ever uncovered another person like Kat.

All these years of obsession had a purpose, though I didn't realize that until I contacted her out of the blue. There really was a method to my madness, and I was about to see its fruition.

I'm at the age where everyone I know has either kicked the bucket or settled down. Keith may be the sole exception, for he still smokes a lot of weed and works in his brother's surfboard shop. But besides peace and sunshine loving hippies like him, a lot of folks have crashed and burned through the years. The crash of 2008 left a rash of suicides in its wake, and more than a few familiar names (Chastity, Joey Donner) popped up in the obituary column (Rachel read it religiously).

So for most people, it's natural to think about settling down. When it moves past normal folks and starts keeping me up at night, then I know I've reached a crossroad of sorts. Touring is where we make most of our money, and that's become a big drag for all of us. This round of clubs has been easier, but still no picnic.

I want to perform for the right reasons, and I want it to come from my heart, like it does with these songs I've written for Kat. It's not that I want to disband The Grease Monkeys, but maybe we should take some time off. We can afford it, and maybe that time off will recharge us and make it exciting to make music together.

This all wound through my head as I watched Kat goofing around with the guys. They clearly liked her, which seemed to make Selina even more sullen than usual. She'd performed flawlessly, and hasn't said a spiteful word to anyone, but I could tell she was seething inside. The end of the tour couldn't come soon enough, and I would be happy to see her go.

Kat noticed me watching her and gave me a little wave. I smiled back and took a sip of water, knowing all too soon we'd be packing up and loading our gear on the truck. Perhaps if I gave her a reason to stop by my suite, one thing could lead to another and give us the happy ending we both deserved.

I motioned her to follow me over to the corner. "So, was that totally cool or what?"

She knew I was referring to her knocking it out of the park on Judy. "It was pretty awesome," Kat admitted. "But if you ever catch me off guard like that again, I may resort to violence."

"Ooh, I can't wait," I replied, using a bring it on gesture that only made her laugh.

Kat cocked her head slightly. "I do think you'd get off on that, Verona. What is your weapon of choice?"

"What, are you challenging me to a duel?" She was a laugh a minute, and I never knew what she'd come up with next.

She punched me in the arm. "Think you could take me?"

I held out my heavily muscled arms with a bit of drama. "Is there any doubt?"

"Yeah." Kat made a muscle for me and I was visibly impressed at the size of her bicep.

"Hey, I got it. Why don't we try dueling guitars? I can play one part, and you can play the other, and we can practice with our new songs." She suddenly ducked her head, and when I moved her curtain of hair away from her face, I was stunned to see the tracks of her tears on her cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. That works for me. When do you want to start?"

"No time like now," I replied softly, my mind drifting off to a great song with that title.

Kat touched my arm with a pensive smile and murmured, "Translator."

I laughed at the way we often tuned into the same wavelength. "I can't get anything past you."

"Damn straight," she replied tiredly, butting her head against my shoulder.

"Stay with me tonight," I said against her ear.

Kat raised her head and searched my face for a long beat. "No strings?"

"And no expectations," I finished.

She slipped her hand into mine. "OK," was the last word she said before riding silently back to the hotel and falling to the floor in almost immediate sleep.

******

Kat  
New York

I opened my eyes and blinked in confusion as I scanned my surroundings. It registered a moment later when I felt movement next to me and looked down to see Patrick stirring in his sleep. A comforter covered us both and it seemed he had joined me on the floor in front of the fireplace.

In slumber, he looked like an overgrown boy, with one stray curl spilling onto his forehead. I found myself reaching over and snatched my hand back at the last second. Getting the chance to watch him like this was a rare opportunity, and I wasn't about to waste it.

As I watched his chest (naked, hairy, and ripe for exploration), I suddenly realized that this was the first time we had spent an entire night together. As teens, we were always grabbing whatever moment we could find to escape into passionate oblivion. We'd measured our time in minutes, such as the stretch between lunch and our first afternoon class, when we were often stealing time on the roof. There were many close calls, and one time we were caught spending a study break in Rachel's claw foot tub.

Yeah, those were the days, but these days held their incipient charms too. This fresh start was a gift I was ready to accept, and what better time than right now?

I rolled to face him and saw that the only thing separating him from me was the comforter. It had slipped lower and I took a good long look at his 6 pack and the trail of hair that slipped out of sight. I hitched over next to him and let my hand travel slowly from his elbow to his shoulder. By the time my fingers traced the shell of his ear, his eyes started to flutter and he murmured my name. I kissed his earlobe and that brought him fully awake. "Kat." His voice was little more than a sigh.

"Hey," I said softly, marveling yet again at how long his eyelashes were.

My stomach grumbled loudly. "Want me to order room service?" he asked with a half smile.

"Not just yet." I took in the visual feast that was Patrick, who was not just a four course meal, but enough to fill me through breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

His eyes crinkled with good humor. "Let me know when you're finished sight-seeing."

Heat coursed through me and I raised one hand to my flaming cheeks. "You seem to be missing some clothes."

Patrick chuckled at my discomfiture. "Not at all. They're right over there on the couch."

"Ah, perhaps I can assist you in your dress, kind sir," I said, using the cover of a joke to regain my composure (not likely when his chocolate drop eyes were moist with barely contained heat).

He touched my face gently and affected a perfect British accent. "Perhaps later, my dear lady, but I'd be more than happy to relieve you of the burden of your clothes."

"Of course you would," I replied dryly, my smile returning when he tugged at the edge of my sleeve. "But I can handle it myself."

Patrick sat up and scorched me with the intensity of his gaze. "I must insist, milady."

My planned comeback died in my throat as Patrick leaned forward and captured my mouth in a breathless kiss. He took his sweet time tasting my lips, his tongue darting about like a butterfly, landing on one corner and sliding across to the other side. When he finally let me breathe, it felt like my entire body was glowing. I looked down, sure that my skin was painted in incandescent gold and silver, but all I saw were his hands ranging up my arms to my shoulders. His fingers dusted my collarbone (more prominent than in my youth) before returning to my face, waltzing over my cheekbones, brow, and chin as if memorizing a dance pattern. When he cupped my cheek, I leaned into his strong fingers and felt his warmth sustaining me.

His half-lidded eyes were drunk with passion, and I lowered my own lids as I leaned in to return his kiss. It started soft and stayed that way as I pushed him back onto the coverlet and reveled in renewing my acquaintance with his bee-stung lips and talented tongue. Patrick broke away and touched his forehead against mine. "I've waited a long time for this."

"Me too."

I trembled a little at the emotions swirling between us, ones that could easily sweep me off my feet. For a long beat, we stared at each other in wonder, all our defenses washed away. Though he had yet to divest me of my clothes, I felt curiously naked under that gaze of his, one which told me how badly he wanted me. That feeling was returned in full measure and I was sure he could sense that every part of me was aroused and so wet that it was almost dripping from my pores.

*****

Patrick  
New York

I stood up and let the coverlet fall away from me. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened at the size of my throbbing erection, and for a moment, I gloried in the way her eyes studied every part of me, lingering on my chest and lowering slowly to my groin.

With outstretched hands, I helped Kat to her feet and was rather happy that I'd get to unlace her mock suede top. With a grin, I started unthreading the laces, loving the way her breathing quickened when I got to the bottom. I threw the ties to one side and parted each side of her shirt, even more delighted to discover she wore nothing underneath. Her fingers started twisting nervously and I brought them to my lips. "No worries, Kat."

I pulled her to me gently and kissed the center of her collarbone. She laughed as my lips tickled her soft skin, but that soon abated when I hunkered down and let my mouth travel down between her breasts to her waist. Her breath hissed when my tongue swirled around her navel, and she groaned when my fingers traveled up her ribcage and came to rest underneath the soft swells of her breasts. "Please," Kat groaned in frustration.

"As you command, milady," I teased, returning to the witty repartee that we both enjoyed. My fingers deftly pushed the shirt off her shoulders and I looked away for a moment as it floated away to the floor. She touched my chin as if willing me to see her fair offerings, and with a lazy smile, I finally returned my attention to her lovely chest.

I have to admit that breasts are a weakness in me, and when they're as perfectly shaped as Kat's, I totally drown. Her coral and cream coloring went perfectly with her dark eyes and hair, and I was soon immersed in nibbling, sucking, and swirling my tongue across her turgid nipples. Her soft gasps and moans nearly sent me over the edge, but I busied my hands with unfastening her jeans and making quick work of her panties. We turned in each other's arms, hands and mouths covering every inch of fevered skin, and somehow meandered on a dazed path to my waiting bed.

With a wicked laugh, she pushed me down and quickly mounted me. Slipping one way and sliding another, our hips started to grind and I knew we were both ready. Her fingers slid up and down my chest and tangled in my chest hair and I was gone when her tongue laved me in long strokes. I was perilously close to losing it, and stopped her motion with my hands on her hips. "Wait," I cautioned, pushing her back slightly and hearing her sigh seductively when I entered her, slowly and carefully as if testing the waters.

My body remembered hers and soon knew that she could accommodate me. With my hands on her hips and her fingers returning to my chest, we began rocking and soon picked up a rhythm. She was hot and slick and I nearly slid out, so I slowed my movements even more and pulled out slowly before pushing back all the way in. She grabbed my hands impatiently and accelerated the pace. With a growl, I sat up and her legs wrapped around my neck like a vise. I thrust into her so hard that her eyes flew open in shock, and the second time I hammered at her, she groaned my name, her head falling back as I pounded at her, meeting my pace and parrying with me like a master swordsman. I felt the wave of orgasm approaching and was stunned when she beat me to it, screaming like a banshee as she came, her muscles spasming against my hand. I bit into her shoulder when my release came, and kissed her so hard that our teeth clacked. "Damn," was all she said before flopping against me like a ragdoll.

*******

Kat  
New York

I know how it's supposed to be. Boy meets girl, boy sleeps with girl, and boy dumps girl after having his way with her.

That cycle plays itself out over and over again, but sometimes it's different.

Sometimes, you look over at that other person in awe, and wonder how you got so lucky.

And occasionally, that person stares back at you with adoring eyes and a thunderbolt hits you straight between the eyes.

_He loves me. _

_And God help me, but I love him back. _

_Always have, always will._

It's no joke. Patrick and I are still swooning from the powerful after effects of mind-blowing sex. We left wow and guh behind and have breached awesome and splendiferous territory. This is 11 on a scale of ten (with apologies to Nigel). It's the kind of experience that can't be written down, for no words can do it justice.

Before I went all poetic and gushy, I focused on merely basking in the warmth of his presence, for that was more than enough sensory overload for the time being.

"Thanks," I said after a long stretch of comfortable silence.

He stroked my hair and tucked it behind my ear. "I should be thanking you."

A smile curled my lips up. "We've done the deed, so what's on tap for the second act?"

That brought his gorgeous smile out to play. "Inquiring minds want to know, but I say we should play it by ear."

There were real questions behind our banter. "Am I really your girlfriend?"

He cupped my face with his palm. "What do you think?"

Patrick was a master at turning questions back on people. It drove interviewers crazy and got him off the hook. But I sensed he really wanted to know what I thought, so I answered him. "You've never been into mind games, and you _did_ call me your girlfriend in front of a bunch of people…" My words trailed off and I punctuated them by kissing him on the cheek.

He smiled. "Sealed with a kiss?"

"Something like that." My stomach growled dramatically and we both laughed. "About that room service, is the offer still open?"

He rolled over and grabbed a menu from the night table. "Always and forever, beautiful lady."

Those words stunned me into silence and I blinked helplessly for a few seconds. "W-what was that again?"

Patrick cut straight to the point. "You heard me, Stratford."

"But you've never said that before." I was pretty sure I would remember something like that, and I couldn't dredge anything up from our past.

"Sure I have," he replied, then qualified his statement by adding, "Maybe not in words, but always with my actions."

I gave that some thought and thought about all the songs he'd written about me. And this current crop of tunes? So exquisitely wrought and heartfelt that it left no doubt about his sincerity. "You're right. Order me up some eggs and home fries while I go shower. And lots of that strong coffee."

"You got it," Patrick replied with a knowing smile that irked me a bit. Could I get nothing past this guy?

He always noticed when I skidded past the mushy stuff and got back to business. But our day of reckoning was coming soon, of that I had no doubt.

I wrapped myself in a sheet and thought about those tunes and how well our partnership could work. Before he got busy on the phone, I looked over my shoulder and stated, "By the way, I've listened to all your songs and after a lot of thought, I've decided to record a few tracks with you."

"Cool. And I suppose you've come up with a name for our pairing?"

With a big smile, I threw out the only name that made sense to me. "Katrick."

His answering laugh was music to my ears, and I made my way to his handball court of a bathroom. Once I got over my awe at its size, I made myself right at home under a huge showerhead and felt not a twinge of guilt at all the water I wasted on this loveliest of mornings.

******

Patrick  
New York

Kat ate like a lumberjack and proceeded to pack her clothes (all dirty) and her camera gear in under a half hour. She dumped her stuff on my couch and picked up my Gibson arch top without my permission. I knew she would treat it with kid gloves, but I still raised an eyebrow at her audacity. With a defiant air, Kat started picking out one of the tunes I had written with her words. I knew she could play, but I didn't know she was so accomplished.

She looked over and saw my 4-track recorder. "Do you mind?"

"Naw, but if you break it, the punishment will be 40 strokes with a wet noodle."

"Aww, only 40?" Kat joked.

I rolled up my stuff neatly and sat on my trunk (full of music and books) with a sigh. "So, Katrick?"

"Why not?"

"And of course your name comes first," I said, delighting in pointing out the blindingly obvious.

"As it should," Kat stated emphatically, daring me to contradict her rigid adherence to 'my names comes first in the alphabet'.

I snorted. "You only follow rules of logic and order when it suits you."

"Says the pot calling the kettle black. What would you have us call yourselves, Patarina?"

Hmm, that had possibilities. I pretended to consider it and laughed at the horrified look on her face. "I hadn't given it much thought."

"How have you survived with such a cavalier attitude?" Kat asked with a mock frown. "Did you even vote in the last election?"

Leave it to Kat to throw down a challenge. "I'm not even registered." I lobbed that little lie grenade straight in her path and watched in delight as she turned three shades of red that reminded me forcibly of Walter.

"I can't believe you."

"Good thing." I held up a hand mirror so she could see the unflattering shade of chartreuse that mottled her cheeks, clashing horribly with her yellow shirt. Bianca would have declared a fashion emergency, but Kat merely wadded up a piece of paper and beaned me off the noggin with it.

"Jerk. Maybe there _is_ hope for you after all."

It killed her that I refused to reveal my political persuasion, which was more moderate than her own views, but still way to the left of where her Dad fell on the spectrum. "Good to know. Are you ready to vacate?"

"Sure, can I book time to take a leak?" Kat handed the guitar to me and smirked on her way past, and it was only when the door shut that I remembered that long ago dance when I'd used a similar line, only to end up getting arrested for someone else's pot smoke.

She rejoined me and insisted on carrying her own luggage, bypassing the bell man I had called down for, and heading for the elevator without me. The bell man located several luggage carts and insisted on helping me with everything. I tipped him handsomely when we got to the lobby and rolled my eyes at the faces Kat was making from the other side of the room. When I got within earshot, I said, "Admit it, you're just a tightwad."

"No, really?" Kat cocked her head and used that long ago 'nyah nyah' face that had the dual effect of grating on me and making we want to kiss her senseless.

The bell man helped both of us bring out stuff out to the curb, where the valet and our truck waited to load our gear. The rest of the band had already gone on ahead and we were the laggards. As I dug in my pocket to pay the valet, I saw Kat hand a wad of cash to the bell man, along with a muttered thanks and a dirty look in my direction. Good to know that guilt trips really worked .

"Keys." Kat held out her hand and I dropped them into her palm. "I have the first leg."

"Which means I get to control the music," I said with a smirk.

"Ooh, does this mean we get to hear the complete works of the Partridge Family? Or should I plan on getting down to the Archies?" She was in rare form today, and I hoped she'd also book time for a nap, because she was awfully punchy.

"Naw, I just figured I'd play an endless loop of GG Allin."

Kat snickered as she got behind the seat. "Sounds positively scatological. Let's hit the road."

I put on some vintage Beatles (non-remastered mono) and earned a rare look of approval as we headed out of the city toward DC.


	5. DC Talk Talk

5. DC-Talk Talk

Kat  
DC

"9:30 Club, baby," I announced with delight, knowing that Bob Mould was doing his DJ thing tonight with some other dude.

Patrick looked at me like I had grown horns. "No way. Tonight we celebrate."

That wasn't on _my_ agenda. "We can celebrate _and_ groove it down at the Blow Off DJ party."

"You're kidding, right?" Patrick retorted as we pulled into a parking space at our Georgetown hotel. Both of us were tired and grumpy from our interminable trip down the NJ Turn Pike, where we'd gotten caught in one hell of a traffic jam.

"So what if it's not your scene? Maybe you should expand your horizons," I said archly.

"Wow, never knew that expanding my horizons meant swinging both ways."

Now _that_ was a low blow. "That's _not_ what this is about, Patrick."

"Really? Then prove it. While we're here, try and act like a normal girlfriend instead of some glorified groupie."

My mouth opened at his insulting tone and I nearly bit down on my tongue to stem the tide of sarcastic comebacks. "You know what? Forget I even mentioned it."

"Works for me."

He seemed relieved that I was dropping the subject, but that was hardly the case. I had a ton of friends in DC, and most of them were straight. So what if Bob M. was gay and attracted a mixed crowd? Sally and Diana had texted me about meeting up tonight, and I wasn't about to let them down. Diana had been one of my college roommates, and Sally was her sister. I would go ahead with my plans and leave Patrick behind at the hotel with his caveman attitudes.

******

Patrick  
DC

I wasn't fooled by Kat's sullen silence at dinner. We stalked through several courses before she finally uttered a civil comment. "How's your steak?"

My grunt was not an endorsement of the rather disgusting pink slab that dripped off my plate and onto my pants. "It fills the hole."

Kat looked down at her salmon and threw me a smug smile. "So does this. Want some?"

Her dinner looked a lot more palatable than mine, so I nodded. "Sure."

She pushed most of her fish onto my plate and picked at her vegetables while she started off into space. "I'm not used to it, you know."

"Used to what?" I said through a delectable mouthful of perfectly cooked fish.

"Being a girlfriend."

I smiled. "Yeah, I kind of got that."

"And you're not exactly boyfriend material either," Kat pointed out helpfully, her fork starting to pick fish off my plate.

"Gee, thanks. Any other shortcomings you want to point out?" My light, breezy tone was at complete odds with the angst inside me.

"Not at the moment, but I'll be sure to let you know when I stumble across something."

I put down my fork and regarded her seriously. "You know, we never really talk."

"Sure we do." Her hands motioned between us and simulated a conversation.

"Nuh uh," I replied childishly. "We either joke around or argue."

"Let's say you're right. How do we fix it?"

I shrugged. "I guess we just try, and see how it goes."

Kat looked less than thrilled at this prospect. "Not tonight, OK?"

We had to talk about that long ago day when I'd broken her heart. Saying I'm sorry in a song didn't cut it, and she had to know that. "OK, but tomorrow, we _will_ spend the day together, and we _will_ have that heart to heart."

"Tomorrow? I'm going to the zoo, so I suppose you can tag along."

No doubt she would head straight to the cheetah enclosure and spend her day photographing and talking to them. "Gee, thanks, I can hardly wait," I said sarcastically.

Kat sighed. "As for later, I am going down to the club to catch up with my _straight _friends. Come along or don't."

I've known all these years that she was the only one for me, but that didn't mean it was easy to put up with her bullshit. And that willful streak was enough to drive a sane man over the cliff. If I didn't have a core of steel, Kat would have run me over on the road of life.

If you learned to play the game, you could mold a situation so she went along with what you wanted, provided you made it seem like _her_ idea. Like that lame ass dance we went to on our first date. When that slow song came on, I wanted to dance, so I threw out a challenge and said she obviously couldn't dance, and of course, she practically dragged me onto the dance floor.

But there was no way to win when she was so set on a course of action, so I waved her off when the check came and she disappeared with an eagerness that kind of hurt my feelings. After our explosive night together, I thought things would be different, but it was becoming clear that some things would never change.

******

Kat  
DC

Sally and Diana looked like younger and older versions of Pippi Longstocking. Diana had a waterfall of carroty silk and Sally had a spiky orange 'do that turned heads wherever she went.

"You actually abandoned that lovely man? Have you lost your mind?" Diana commented as she knocked back some Cuervo.

"Probably left it in San Francisco, before dumping my liver in Peru," I said dryly. "But seriously, I _didn't_ abandon him. He _chose_ not to accompany me."

"Ah, and this makes a difference because…?" Diana asked mischievously.

"I gave him a choice," I protested.

"Did you?" Sally asked, her melodious alto cutting through the high pitched giggles of the girls next to us. "Because it sure sounded like your tried and true 'my way or the highway' 'tude."

"So what? I'm sleeping with him, not having his babies."

Diana rolled her eyes. "And we're supposed to believe this is nothing more than a way to blow off steam? Give me a break."

"This is Patrick Fucking Verona, Kat," Sally pointed out, using my very own words to remind me that yes, I was delusional if I placed Patrick anywhere near the one night stand category.

Diana grimaced slightly at her sister's choice of words. "You're living every fangirl's dream. A nearly perfect guy wants you, and even seems to love your pain in the butt self. And what are you doing? Brooding about the hunk you left at the hotel."

"I get it," I retorted. "And I know I'm playing duck and dodge, but that's how I deal with stress."

Sally and Diana both laughed in my face before Sally said, "If that's what you call stress, bring it on."

My smile stretched tightly across my face. "Why don't we talk about something else, like what's going on with you two?"

Sally fell for it, and soon was filling our ears with tales from the State Department, where she worked as an aide for some right wing nut job from Sarah Palin country.

I was happy when Bob Mould and his partner came back on and started spinning for us again. It gave me an excuse to leave the table and dance up a storm.

******

Kat  
DC

_I found an island in your arms  
Country in your eyes_

_Break on Through to the Other Side, Lyrics by Jim Morrison_

You'd think that someone with my intelligence would be in touch with their feelings. And dreams? I'm supposed to keep a sleep journal next to my bed so I can furiously get it all down the second I wake up, lest I lose it all again to the light of day.

My therapist Mark has often urged me to cave to his New Age ideas, but I refused to buy into his mantra. I'm an old-fashioned girl at heart, and I want all the things that girls are supposed to want, only I've suppressed those desires so deep that they only rarely peep through when someone like Patrick Verona breaks down my barriers.

I'm stuck in this fevered eat-sleep-dream cycle that started and ended with him. Sometimes it's like I'm watching someone else's life through a fish bowl, and I only existed in this strange, strident state, always on the outside looking in.

How could I be someone's girlfriend, cherished—even loved—beyond all others? What made me special enough to merit this honor? No one like me deserved this. People like me deserved to die alone, surrounded by thirty hungry cats looking at their next meal.

So even knowing all this, how could I wake up feeling so completely loved and so much of a fraud, all at the same time? His warm, furry body surrounded me like an island chain, with arms and legs connected so perfectly that he'd completely bridged my heart to his? His lips were nuzzling the cords of muscles in my neck, and his hands were twined in my hair.

He parted my hair at the nape of my neck and the instant his tongue touched my skin, my entire body rippled with charge, undulating against him in wave after wave of molten want. No words were exchanged as he kissed my belly and removed my camisole with his teeth. Another dip of his head and an assist from my thumbs slid my panties off and up to the bed post.

Patrick's hands hitched my legs over his shoulders, and just before he buried his face in me, he looked up and flashed that sexy, half smile. I let out a strangled cry as he worked me with hot swipes of his tongue and deft swirls of his thumbs. My orgasm was so explosive and violent that I bit down on my lower lip, and when Patrick saw my tongue sticking out, he sucked it into his mouth and moved on me so expertly that I gave in to the strokes of the master that he was.

His thrusts were slow and sensual, and we rocked together as if becalmed at sea. But underneath the gentle swaying, we both felt the rising edge of a tsunami, and just before it claimed us, he dropped his thumb to my core and the passion storm took both of us.

Only seconds seemed to pass before the cycle started again, so wild and so hard that our hands and heads crashed into the headboard, which banged against the wall repeatedly as we made love, the mattress squeaking up such a storm that I was certain Brad and Luis heard our every groan and shouts of each other's names.

We smiled in bliss as our hands twined and our bodies softened, but only enough for him to carry me to the bathroom, where we washed and stroked each other in the claw foot tub. Round three led to a veritable flood, and I laughed as we cleaned the mess up. "How do you get away with this?"

Patrick crinkled his eyes. "Must be my insouciant charm."

"Ooh, big words from someone who can't even read." I laughed as he snapped a wet towel at me and grabbed it out of his hands and added it to the growing pile in the corner.

"Maybe so, but I must insist on matching tee shirts," Patrick replied, holding up two, completely soaked Filthy Souls shirts.

We both laughed at the memory of that long ago day when he'd challenged me to show my underage face at Club Bait. "Are those the originals?" I asked in disbelief.

"Indeed they are. Lovingly preserved and saved for an occasion such as this," Patrick said with faux formality.

"Let me guess. Stuffed into your sock drawer?"

"Of course not. These fine shirts keep company with my boxers."

"Since when do you wear underwear?" I quipped.

"Since never. I was talking about my dogs. So, are we really doing that zoo thing today?" Patrick asked casually.

I looked down for a second as I composed my thoughts. "I promised I'd volunteer some time with the cheetahs."

"This related to that big fundraising effort to improve their habitat?"

"Been there and done that. I'm actually leading a mini photo shoot for all the big cats."

"Really? Are we talking kids or trigger happy adults?"

"It's a mixed group with Asperger's," I explained, wondering if he realized how much I related to people on the spectrum.

"Oh, need some help?"

Patrick could charm his way out of a paper bag, and I'm sure everyone would love him. "Yeah, why not?"

"So it's a date, with you, me, and the Rain Man."

*****

Patrick  
DC

Kat insisted on _walking_ to the National Zoo, but there was a method to her madness. She put a splitter on her digital recorder, and together we listened to her renditions of the songs I'd created with her poems. By the time we got to the gate, we were both singing along to _Tattered_ with linked arms. I laughed when she hopped and skipped past a bus load of Golden Agers clogging the sidewalk and left us all in the dust.

When I finally sauntered through the main entrance, I could see her holding court at the panda enclosure, hands waving animatedly as she talked shop with another photographer. They were comparing lenses when I pointed up the hill toward the cheetahs. "We better get cracking, Kat Lady."

She made a face at me and shouldered her camera bag. "Whatever you say, boss," she said mockingly, darting ahead of me with those amazingly long legs that went on forever. I enjoyed the sway of her hips and the way her waist curved out to that sweet butt of hers, one that fit perfectly into my hands. As if sensing my regard, she whirled around and caught me gawking. "You couldn't even catch flies with that mug."

"_Thanks_." I picked up the pace and caught her wrist before she could fly even further out of reach. "We need to talk."

Kat kicked at a rock and turned to face me. "Here's the thing, Patrick. If you give me a cause, I can talk till I'm blue in the face, but anything else sends me straight back to remedial speech class."

I completely got where she was coming from. "Same with me. I can throw all this deep, dark shit into my music, but putting my heart on my sleeve? Forget it."

She offered me a Mona Lisa smile. "Hmm, could have fooled me, but OK."

Kat resumed her power strides with an ever widening grin and I had to jog to keep up. "You're not getting off that easy, Stratford."

"Of course not." She picked up some tools from a docent and walked toward the group working on the new cheetah enclosure. Seeing her competence in this environment brought me straight back to that rainy day at the Wild Animal Park where she'd shown us all up with her dexterity.

I claimed the space next to her and glared at another guy when he blessed Kat with a wolfish smile. The guy must have spotted the part of me that scared the crap out of my high school peers and backed away with a muttered apology. "So, here we are, and no sexy orange vests in sight. Hope you don't plan on skewering me."

"Not your foot anyway," Kat joked as she started hammering a cross post in place.

"You're avoiding the subject."

"So are you," she pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "And it was your idea."

There was a pink elephant in the room and it loomed larger every time we danced around the subject. "It's always been you, Kat."

Her hammer stopped moving and she turned her head slightly. "Do tell."

Ah, yes, I remember that line well, because it prefaced that awful moment on the roof when I blew it for the first time, not realizing it would be only one of a very long line of disappointments between us. "From the moment I first met you, I was spellbound. No other girl existed for me from that point forward."

Sarcasm, anger, and a tiny bit of hope played across her face as she considered my words. "Really? So I'm supposed to believe all those girls meant nothing?"

"Don't forget the alleged crack pipe," I reminded her, though I'd never ingested anything stronger than hash.

"_Right_, how could I forget?" She returned to her hammering and was pounding the nails in with way more force than the job called for.

I sidled closer and risked getting nailed to the fence when I said, "None of it meant anything. I was trying to fill all he holes in life, and all I did was dig myself into a deeper hole. Without you, I am incomplete." She was the yin to my yang, and that was what I'd tried to convey in my song.

Kat tossed her head and I caught sight of a single tear coursing down her cheek. "God," she said after a long beat.

My hand found her shoulder and for the space of a few breaths, she covered my fingers with hers. "As for our breakup…"

She cut me off with a downward chop of her hand. "That's old news. Why dwell on it?"

"_Because_," I said forcefully, "You need to know _why_ I did it."

"You were 18. Shit happens," Kat said blithely, once more skating around the hole in the ice that never really mended.

"That's not how it was," I retorted hotly, throwing down my hammer and forcing my agenda by grabbing her wrist and turning her to face me.

Kat squirmed out of my grip but I held her in place by the sheer force of my gaze. "Then enlighten me," she hissed.

My endless therapy sessions zoomed through my mind as I admitted, "I wanted someone to put me first. First my parents let me down, then my brother, and even Uncle Pete when he passed away. It wasn't until I met you that things started to matter again…maybe too much. I was so intent on having my way that what you wanted never entered the picture."

Her face twisted in pain and for a second, I flashed back to that moment when I'd cruelly cut her off and sent her away without another word until I'd contacted her a few weeks ago in Boston. "I get it," Kat stated once she regained her composure.

"That doesn't make it right," I replied, wanting her to know what I'd lost in the process.

She sighed. "What do you want from me, Patrick? I forgave you a long time ago."

"Just this. I had something precious within reach, and I threw it all away."

Kat rubbed her temples a few times. "And now you want a second chance?"

That was a given. "I want more than that, Kat."

Her head came up and I had her full attention. "Meaning?"

I stepped so close that our noses almost touched. "I want it _all_."

Kat's eyes widened as my words hit home. "Why me?"

My fingers found her fat braid and twisted my hand around it as if grabbing for a lifeline. "Because you're the one. And now that I've found you again, I'm never letting go."

She touched her forehead to mine and grabbed the sides of my head with her hands. "OK, it's a deal. Now can we get back to work?"

I laughed shakily as I saluted her. "Yes, officer."

*******

Kat  
DC

We met up with the autistic group shortly after I inhaled my lunch and half of Patrick's salad. They were excited and half of them had better cameras than I was carrying today. Maybe I would be the one learning from some of these savants.

I'd arranged to get up close and personal (well, as close as one could get without getting devoured by hungry tigers) with the array of big cats at the zoo. We started with the lions, who did little more than open one eye as we snapped away. I explained framing and getting the eyes as sharp as possible, which was difficult when all the lions were sleeping. The muted lighting was perfect, and I was surprised when Patrick started interacting with some of the younger kids. As I heard him explaining some of the animal behavior, I realized he was an unexpected font of knowledge.

The afternoon wore away as we stopped at the tiger exhibit, which was full of active cubs. My group was equally animated as they attempted to capture every cute pose, and the rest of the cats seemed boring by comparison. The baby cheetahs were only interested in playing with their Mom's tail, and the clouded leopard stayed out of sight.

It was an overall success, and I did lots of high fiving as the group packed away their gear and headed for their bus. I waved a bunch of times as they pulled away and smiled over nothing other than pure happiness.

Patrick took my hand and that prompted me to say, "I never pictured you as a white picket fence kind of guy."

He threw me a look I remembered well from the old days. It was 'have you lost your mind' mixed with 'what the hell are you talking about'. "Huh?"

"You said you wanted it _all_."

"So I did."

"Define _all_."

"You've gotta be kidding me." Patrick jerked his hand away in annoyance at my seeming naïveté.

"Not this time."

He circled around me like a shark, his brows drawing down into a formidable frown. "How can you _not_ know, Stratford? I don't take this lightly, and I don't commit myself to someone—_publicly_—without expecting something in return."

"Like what?" I said lightly, catching his bicep before he completed his third circuit.

Patrick backed me against a wall and put his arms on either side of my head. "Compromise, commitment, and trust. Am I asking for too much?"

He nearly melted me into a puddle with the intensity of his emotions. "N-no," I replied, hardly able to breathe when he dropped his head on my shoulder.

Patrick kissed my ear lobe and whispered, "Just so you know, white picket fences aren't really my style. I'd prefer barbed wire and a guard tower."

I ran my fingers through his hair and smiled. "Don't forget the dogs."

He caught one of my hands and wrapped it in both of his. "I thought you were a cat person."

"I can make exceptions…for a price."

The sudden appearance of his smoky grin was like the sun coming out from behind a rain cloud. "Let me guess. You want me to sign the Porsche over to you."

"Screw the Porsche. I'd rather ride its owner any day," I deadpanned, meeting his shocked gaze with a growing smile that erupted into giggles at his smoldering look. "C'mon, boss, we have a show to get to."

******

Patrick  
DC

We played McNair Auditorium at Georgetown U. and rocked the house down. It was a rowdy, all ages show and fans stormed the stage at the end of our second encore.

I shrugged at Kat as I was dragged to a table to sign, which went on for a good hour. By that time, Kat, Luis, and Brad were nowhere to be found, and Selina was wrapped around some guy who barely looked old enough to shave.

There was an interview scheduled at the Georgetown college station, and the guys really needed to be on board for this one. It was only a quick hop across campus to the Leavey Center, but if I couldn't find them it was a moot point. I would string them up along with Kat if I got stuck doing this alone.

Two stunning redheads approached me and I signed their CDs. One of them said, "I'm one of Kat's friends from college, and this is my sister Sally."

So these were the two pals she'd gone off to meet last night. "Diana, right? Have you seen Kat? She disappeared on me."

Diana and Sally exchanged glances and I figured Kat was up to no good. "It's OK, I promise not to skin her alive."

That elicited an uneasy laugh. "Umm, I think they already went over to Leavey."

"OK, so what's the problem?"

"You didn't hear this from me, but I think one of your guys scored some primo hash."

Why the hell didn't they invite me along? Oh, wait, I was the one who did all the meet and greet crap that they couldn't be bothered with. "_Thanks_."

I felt a thundercloud growing over my head, but that didn't deter Diana from touching my arm. "Promise not to go all Hannibal Lecter on her."

My pen practically tore through the CD sleeve as I capped it and handed the CD back to her. "No problem. Genghis Khan is more my speed anyway."

With a slightly evil smirk, I motioned one of my roadies over to start packing up and strode off without another word to any of my fans.

I found my way to Leavey Center, located the radio station, but didn't see any sign of my errant rhythm section or my Kat Lady. There was a long corridor near the station with single stall bathrooms and as usual, the line to the ladies room was piled ten deep. Which wasn't weird by itself, because girls almost took forever in the bathroom. But this was late on a weekend night, and nothing else was going on.

The girl at the head of the line was pounding on the door and I heard her yell, "Are you OK in there?"

A familiar laugh quickened my Spidey senses and suddenly, the bathroom door flew open and three people stumbled out, pushing their way through the line and laughing their asses off. Kat spotted me first and whispered something in Luis's ear that doubled him over in laughter. They turned around and laughed even louder at the shocked expressions of their audience. Kat said mockingly, "Sorry about that, ladies. You should have used what little common sense God gave you and used the men's room."

She strode over to where I was standing. "You look pretty hot when you're torqued, Verona. Better dial it down for your interview."

"You could have waited to get ripped," I muttered.

"Aww, you want to spoil all our fun. Besides, I got to bond with Luis and Brad. Go rain on someone else's parade."

Before I could comment, she linked arms with Luis and Brad and headed for the station, apparently intent on joining our interview.

And that was exactly how it went, turning what should have been a staid half hour into a rip snorting hour of high comedy, witty and rather urbane commentary from Kat on the state of the music industry, and rather snarky asides from Brad and Luis. It was less about me, and more about the group experience. The inevitable questions about my love life came up and Kat answered for me.

"I've got it covered," Kat said slyly.

"Ooh, did he give you a photo exclusive?" the interviewer cooed.

"Sorry, let me clarify my statement. I've got _him_ covered. Anything else you want to know?"

She was high as a kite, and even in that state, she used multisyllabic words and sounded completely coherent. I shook my head with a smile as we finished the interview. "Didn't expect this to turn into a three ring circus."

"But wasn't it fun?" Kat exclaimed with a grin. "Let's go eat."

I looked at my watch. "At this hour? We can order in."

"OK, boss, whatever you want," Kat said as she ruffled my hair affectionately. With a whisper, she said, "This is compromise, right?"

"Sure." With a smile, I kissed her on the cheek and followed the guys out into the night.


	6. Author's Note

Author's Note

I wanted to explain what happened with the chapters in this story. There were too many, and it was getting too difficult to manage them all. So I thought it made sense to combine them into larger chapters.

So if you are looking for Chapter 36 or 37, those are in Chapter 5, the DC chapter.

All the text is there, it is just in a different place.

Hope this helps explain things.


	7. California Dreamin'

6. California Dreamin'

Kat  
North Carolina to points West

We went south to Chapel Hill and took a side trip out to Asheville, where we toured the Vanderbilt Estate and gorged on the extensive buffet at the Grove Park Inn.

The band met up with us about ten days later in Chicago, where they did four nights at The Metro. Apparently, the band's biggest clump of fans was in the Windy City. From there, we drifted toward the Southwest.

One stop in Denver was followed by multiple stops in New Mexico and Utah. We even played in Shiprock to a rowdy crowd of Navajo who plied us with cheap booze and fry bread. I scoured the area for unusual jewelry and came away with some gorgeous bracelets that encircled both wrists, replacing the beads and faux barbed wire I sometimes wore, mostly because my Mom had done so in her heyday.

Patrick made sure I had some down time to visit Arches, Bryce Canyon, and Zion National Park. I went out at ungodly hours of the morning to beat the rush of photographers and did my best to take unusual shots rather than the standard compositions anyone could get.

We did one swing down to Texas and played two nights in Austin, then over to Tucson, Sedona, and Phoenix, including a concert in the cool desert night that was mind-bending and almost spiritual. We were close to San Diego when we left Arizona, but instead of heading west, we headed north to San Francisco, to start the final leg of the tour, which would take us down the coast and back home for two nights at The Jumping Turtle in San Marcos.

*****  
Patrick  
San Francisco

I'd lived in different cities my whole life, but none of them enthralled me like San Francisco. For a time, I'd considered buying a crib in The Haight, if only to say I was reliving the 60's experience (vicariously).

We ruled this city, and had enough of a fan base to play two nights at the Fillmore and a third night at The Great American Music Hall. The band was staying at a low key hotel near the water, and Kat and I were staying at a bed and breakfast that Rachel had recommended near Nob Hill.

Kat raised an eyebrow when I mentioned my intention of keeping separate quarters for our trip down the Left Coast. "Why?"

"To give us some privacy." I was a bit tired of Brad and Luis ragging on us about our rather exuberant lovemaking. Brad had perfected a rather deadly impression of Kat screaming my name that would have mortified her, and Luis was just as merciless with his repertoire of squeaks and bangs.

People believe that once you've screwed someone, it gets tired and predictable, but that isn't true for me and Kat. As the tour progressed, we could barely keep our hands off each other. I was astonished by the frequency, intensity, and interesting variations in our sexual escapades. It was not uncommon to find us coupling backstage, desperate hands pulling clothes to one side as I mounted her on an amplifier, or her grabbing me at a truck stop for a quickie in a grimy bathroom. She was brave, beautiful, and I loved her so completely that it shattered me every time I woke up next to her, hardly believing that she had allowed me back into her life.

"Does such a thing exist?" Kat asked simply, knowing we both lived under the microscope since we'd outed our relationship. The tabloids were all over us, and The Star had printed a provocative photo of us making out against a vivid Sedona sunset.

I helped her unpack the truck as we looked up at the Victorian B&B looming over our car. "At least it gets us away from the guys for a few hours."

"So it does," Kat agreed, hissing in pleasure when my hand brushed against her butt, a completely deliberate act that I hoped would end in a nearby bed.

The innkeeper showed us to our room, a smallish square with a few redeeming qualities: a stellar view of the city and an enormous bed that dwarfed the floor space. We dropped our luggage with a clunk and were on each other with a ferocity that sent us spinning down into the soft comforter. Hands ripped clothes away and our lips collided and drew blood as I bit down on her soft lower lip. Kat's tiny cry of pain was quickly engulfed by our mutual passion, and we both pounded and twisted at each other, only surrendering when we came within seconds of each other.

*****

Kat  
San Francisco

I love this city, and maybe it's built on rock and roll, but some of its B&Bs are like the Bates Motel couched in Victorian whimsy.

Like this rat hole we're staying in. I get that it's an old house, but it's like someone spackled up the holes and hired a one-armed paperhanger and a colorblind decorator to gussy up the walls. The flowery motif is giving me vertigo, and the stupid throw pillows make me sneeze.

The towels aren't the soft clouds of luxury I am used to at home. It's like someone washed them in cold water, used the cheapest soap they could find, and tossed them out on a clothes line to dry into rocks. They practically flay the skin from my body, and could the toilet paper be any worse? It's the ultrathin, scratchy kind that shrieks recycled (two or three times over) before tearing you a new butt hole, or making you a candidate for hemorrhoids.

What sort of place charges you three bills for the night, but doesn't have the decency to supply bar soap? Do they honestly think that Patrick and I want to use their grotesquely scented, SLS laced crap in the pump bottle?

But worse than all of this was the brain trust they hired to turn a closet into a bathroom designed for Lilliputians. Patrick and I are big people with long legs and arms, and I have a large head that barely fits through the door of this slot. The designer extraordinaire made the plan work (on paper) by moving the sink (with hot and cold reversed) out next to the bed, with this wide wastebasket (a spittoon in its former life) that I tripped on at least half a dozen times a night, till I barked my shin so hard that I threw it out on the balcony in a fit of pique.

And no night stand for me, with my glasses and other nighttime paraphernalia. No, I had to settle for this doll sized table under the sink which was there for no reason I could ascertain except to cause fits of hysterical laughter before I arranged my crap in a huff.

To enter this water closet, you had to go in sideways, since a whole, non-stick figure person couldn't squeeze through that pinhole. And when you got in, you were sure to bang your leg against the loo, or knock the toilet paper on its ornate stand (these are butt wipes, people, not flowers) into the shower. And if you finally landed safely on the toilet, your knees were up to your ears and your skull was sure to crack against the ceramic tile that was a fraction of an inch away. No such thing as turning around in this torture chamber. You had to slither up and down the wall to use the toilet, before crawling like a spider into the child sized shower stall.

Since you've gotten this far, let me tell you that the shower was the worst part of this nightmare. I didn't expect one of those fat shower heads with the dial in settings, but I expected decent water pressure. What I got was a trickle of water like someone had replaced the spigot with a thimble on a timer, with dribbles of water sprinkling down every so often. And if I was lucky enough to get tepid water before it shifted to Arctic cold, I'd say two Our Fathers and Three Hail Marys and hope I'd get the soap out of my hair in time to escape a glacial blast of moisture. On our last day (I was already celebrating) there, we returned early to wash up and discovered there was no cold water because the innkeeper was doing her laundry. What the fuck was that about? I sent Patrick down to mediate since I would have probably ripped her head off and mounted it on a spike to warn off all potential tourists from this dungeon.

I discovered the last bit of fun when we sat down to breakfast with the couple rooming behind us. The lady leaned over and whispered that we'd kept her up all night with our carousing. "I was half tempted to join you, but my husband doesn't like swaps."

My mouth opened and all that came out was a horrified giggle. I'd noticed the walls were paper thin, but since we commingled at odd times when no one was around, I hadn't realized that someone was keeping score. We ate our food so quickly that I almost choked on a bone dry muffin. "You done?" I said to Patrick, whose plate was heaped to the ceiling with eggs and home fries.

He flashed his perpetually amused grin. "Nope."

"Too bad. Take it to go."

My coffee sloshed onto the pristine white table cloth and I smiled in glee as a dark stain spread through to the wood underneath. With a frown at the pervy old bag smiling up at us, I shoved past her and up the stairs to pack up my gear.

******

Patrick  
San Francisco

I have to hand it to Kat. She put up with three crazy nights at The Witch's Tit (I couldn't make these things up if I tried) and didn't utter a single complaint all weekend.

Whatever Rachel had been smoking when she'd recommended this dump must have jettisoned half a billion brain cells along the way. I'd be sure to thank her when we returned home in a few weeks.

I'd stayed in some crappy hotels in my day, but this place masqueraded as a fancy joint. You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig in the end.

Before we left the city, I had an important errand to run downtown. I glanced over at Kat, but she was furiously writing something in her journal, her pen flying across the page like a maddened speed skater. We trekked through the Mission District, with all its gorgeous murals, and I asked, "Don't you want to stop for photos?"

She looked around before shaking her head. "No thanks, I catalogued them for the city over a decade ago."

Was there anything this girl hadn't done? Moving to the topic that really interested me, I asked, "So, are you writing a new tune?"

"Could be." Kat capped her pen and ripped the page out of her journal. As we waited at a light, I watched her fold it into an elaborate origami of a bird. Before the light changed, she placed it in my palm. "You be the judge."

We finally arrived at Goldberry's and I was lucky enough to grab a spot someone was vacating. I cranked in some quarters and offered my arm to Kat, whose eyes glinted at me suspiciously. "What are you up to, Patrick?"

I managed to look sufficiently innocent. "Nothing. Just thought we'd do a little window shopping."

Kat snorted. "The aliens have apparently landed and taken over your brain. _You_ don't _shop. _You _lean_ and get your assistant to do it for you."

My hands went up in surrender. "Hey, I'm a changed man."

"_Right_. What is this really about?" Kat queried.

I raised my eyebrows. "Leave the Nancy Drew routine at the door and maybe I'll tell you."

She nodded reluctantly. "OK."

The head jeweler knew me and had a selection of colored stones ready for Kat's inspection. When he brought out the tray of rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, her eyes went wide and for a second, utter delight flashed across her face. It was quickly masked by her usual indifference and she asked, "Nice rocks. Are they lab grown?"

Maurice looked slightly offended. "Not this group. Patrick was very particular about that."

Her head came up at that and she looked between us with narrowed eyes. "And what else did Patrick say?"

"That only the finest stones could be used for a promise ring."

Kat's mouth opened and her fingers tightened like claws on my forearm. "You could have warned me," she muttered in my ear.

"And have you fly the coop? Not a chance," I replied dryly. "I was thinking maybe one of those narrow bands with a trio of stones."

Kat gazed at me in disbelief. "Why would you do this for me?"

Rather than knock sense into her with a two by four, I admitted, "Because I adore you."

There, it was out on the table, and she was utterly speechless. Knowing that wouldn't last long, I handed Maurice a list of specifications for some additional pieces to be given at a later date. By the time she'd calmed down enough to speak, she was literally jumping for joy, and I was rewarded with a kiss on both cheeks and a murmured, "Likewise."


	8. Summer Breeze

7. California-Summer Breeze

Note: I promise there won't be a zillion more chapters. I expect only one large one in Los Angeles and another large one for San Diego.

Patrick  
On the road

Sly was playing on the radio as we left the city. The sun baked down on us gently and the breeze pulled Kat's hair out behind her like a sail. Every so often I caught her stealing glances at her ring, like it would disappear if she didn't check on it.

This was a huge deal for me. I'd never given anything personal to anyone, not even in my heyday with Kat. Flowers or jewelry? Forget it. Maybe a book or a CD, but that was the extent of my largesse. And something as personal as a promise ring was so far out of my comfort zone that I felt a bit queasy at what I had just done.

The ring hadn't been bought on a whim. Even before I contacted Kat through her agent, I'd thought about this, and wondered if I had a chance with her along with the nerve to pull it off. So after numerous nights of endless pacing, I'd finally decided to go for it.

So here I was, still second guessing myself and wondering when the dream would end and she would throw the ring in my face. But the road continued zipping past our wheels, and all I heard was Kat humming happily along to her mix tape of The Breeders, Bob Mould, and the Pixies.

I suddenly remembered her impromptu origami in my pocket and took it out. It was a shame to destroy her rather artful creation (a heron), but I was more curious about her hen scratches. With careful fingers, I unfolded it and I almost whistled at the vitriol spilling into every corner. It was Kat taking aim at The Witch's Tit, and would make one hell of a funny song once I got done with it. I could tame her words into something that would appeal to everyone instead of L7 fans. The girl had one hell of a sharp tongue, and I was a good enough editor to raise her vision to an even higher level. "This will do," I said with a smirk.

Kat spared me a glance and I caught her panic before she turned her attention back to the road. "That was me venting."

"It's great. All it needs is a bit of massaging," I said suggestively, crinkling my eyes at her when she peeked over at me and laughing when she stuck out her tongue.

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"Pretty much. What did you expect, Shakespeare and Earl Grey tea?" I joked, especially since I was fond of both commodities.

"With a little Jane on top," Kat replied saucily.

"Ooh, will Darcy be joining us?"

"No, only that old bat from the hotel."

My chuckle was cut off by the ring of my phone. It was Aunt Rachel, and she had a business proposition for me. Before I let her sink into manager mode, I complained, "Hey, you know that bed and breakfast you recommended?"

"Sure, I spent many a happy night there."

"You and how many people?" My tone was only half joking.

"Oh my God. Did Lillith proposition you?" Rachel asked in a horrified tone.

I looked around for Sam and Dean Winchester and smirked. "Naw, just some old prune. Why, does the Tit have some deep, dark secret?"

Rachel giggled at my question. "Other than its odd name and Wiccan clientele? Not really."

Any self-respecting Wiccan should have stayed far away from that dump. "_Odd_? Is that what you call it?"

"Lillith is a bit of a comedienne."

I conjured up the innkeeper's puffy, pig face and wondered if a real smile would smash it to smithereens. "I can see that. Did you know she put us in the room designed for dwarves? I almost broke out the dollhouse china, but Kat restrained me at the last second."

"I'm so sorry. You do remember I told you to book the suite, right?"

I remembered nothing of the kind, only the glowing reviews about the food (feh) and the exquisite interior design (Escher would have been so proud). "Never mind. What's up?"

"You know that game designer who called you a few months back? He wants to meet up and do some storyboards at Comic Con."

"Is this the David Crosby dude or the Harrison Ford clone?"

"He's David, right down to the balding pate. I sat down with him and played the game, and it's totally cool. Why not give him a chance?"

I thought about the insanity at Comic Con and sighed. "Can't we do it somewhere else?"

"He's only going to be in town for the con, and I think he'd like to make an announcement that you've joined forces to do the music."

Oh, yes, the sneaky marketing ploy. "Of course he would. If I agree, and that's a big if, there will be a lot of caveats over how the music is used and licensed."

"Don't worry, Pat. Damon and I are watching out for your interests." Damon was my personal attorney, and one of the best in the business.

"Sure you are. So how's Wally?"

I heard her intake of breath. "Good. I'm hoping to have you and Kat join us for dinner."

Kat's ears had perked up the moment I mentioned her Dad. "Don't think that's gonna happen, Rach."

"Can you at least try talking to her? I know Walter feels a lot of remorse over things he may have said to her."

"May have said?" I echoed in disbelief.

"Well, you know how things are often taken out of context…"

I interrupted, "Has he changed his views?"

"I'm working on that," Rachel said flatly, which told me nothing had changed.

"And how's that going for you?" I countered acerbically, knowing how resolute Walter was on anything he felt strongly about. Like father, like daughter, and no way to dissuade either one of them when they sunk their teeth into something.

"Not great."

"Well, unless Wally meets her halfway, then forget it." I could almost see steam coming out Kat's ears and decided to ring off. "Look, I gotta jet. Tell the developer sure and set up a time for me."

"And the dinner?"

"That's up to Wally," I said before hanging up.

I pocketed my BlackBerry and sighed at the angry set to her features. "Sorry to get in the middle of that."

Kat shrugged. "No way to avoid it, is there?"

"Not really. So, you up for some fun at Comic Con in a few weeks?"

That erased her frown for the moment. "Only if we stay in a hotel of _my_ choice."

I slapped her palm. "It's a deal."


	9. LA: There's a Riot Going On

California-There's a Riot Going On

Kat  
Los Angeles

I could feel the hormone storm rising in me. Little things were ticking me off, like Patrick suddenly announcing that we were staying at the Riot House, or that we were both slated to attend a charity event hosted by a band on his label (Bronze Age, this decade's Metallica).

"Riot House?" I quirked an eyebrow at him as I tucked into my frozen yogurt.

"Yeah, aren't you jazzed?" Patrick teased, knowing full well that I was aware of the hotel's colorful history. In its day, many rock bands had stayed there and all kinds of wild stuff had gone on.

"Only if I can stay in Room 1015 and drop a TV out the window." I was of course referring to something one of the Rolling Stones had done back in the day.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Not sure that's in the cards, but I'll see what I can do."

I had a feeling he was doing this for me, thinking I cared about revisiting old legends. The former Continental Hyatt House was now the Andaz West Hollywood, and it had been renovated from top to bottom. My sister had actually stayed there when she visited LA on business, and she'd raved about the accommodations and the awesome view from the roof. "How about hijacking a motorcycle and riding in style down the hallway?"

That earned me a half smile. "Tempting, but I left crazy back in Boston."

Now _that_ statement knocked me for a loop. "You sure about that?" I said before making a loony face at him.

Patrick kissed the tip of my nose. "Pretty sure."

Those lips felt amazing as they traveled down to my neck. A nearby couple frowned at us, which made us both laugh. "Bet they don't think so."

He held out his hand and we left the restaurant with entwined fingers. With a velvety soft voice, he whispered, "I could take you right here on the hood of your car. Would that be crazy enough?"

I punched his arm lightly. "Did that already. Why don't we wait for those Sealy box springs at the hotel?"

Patrick's strong arms twined around my waist. "Ooh, I like the sound of that."

My smile was obliterated by the force of his kiss, which bent me backward over his arm into one of those classic Hollywood poses. For several long beats, I inhaled his woodsy scent and sighed when he lifted my hair up and buried his face in my neck. When I could finally find words, I said shakily, "I hope that charity thing is some other night, because right now I could just eat you up."

His answering smile was outlined in purple neon. "Then hold your hair, because I'm about to break all land speed records."

******

Patrick  
Los Angeles

I'd left out a few facts when I'd mentioned Riot House, such as the fact that Bronze Age was staying on the same floor with us along with their opening band (Gala). That wouldn't ordinarily be a problem, except for the fact that Bronze Age had actively helped the RIAA pursue illegal file sharers. How anyone could be proud of suing some old guy because his grandson was stealing a ton of tracks right under his nose was beyond me.

As long as they kept their politics in check, I had no problem hanging with these guys. They brought a ton of money in to the label that helped me sign up and coming artists, which was all that really mattered to me.

We hadn't done much with Katrick, but I knew it was on her mind, because I caught her humming one of our songs when she thought I wasn't listening. Tattered was our favorite track, and it described both of us to a T. Sometimes I felt like one of those ratty American flags flying from an antenna, full of holes and shot straight to hell.

We finally arrived in Los Angeles after a quick stop in Santa Barbara, which was partially shut down by wildfires. California in summer was not always full of brilliant sunshine. The coast was more likely to be weighed down by fog or the smoke of wild fires. I remembered that long ago night on the roof and my careless remarks about fires, which never bothered me until my house on the Big Sur coast went up in flames. My tongue didn't run away from me so much now, which was good, because there was no room left to insert my foot.

It didn't take long to find the Riot House, which still was a favorite stop for many bands, if only to breathe in the ambience of a long ago age. It was hard to imagine with all the improvements they'd made here. Kat leaned against the car and peered up at the hotel. "Almost Famous, huh?"

"Yeah, they filmed part of it here."

I handed her camera bag to her and Kat shouldered her heavy valise without asking for my help. She'd kept up with her strength training, waking early every morning to do a series of crunches, squats, and free weight moves. Then she'd find the hotel gym and run for another hour on the treadmill. Sometimes I distracted her with a different type of exercise, and that often turned into multiple sessions.

Yes, life was good, right up to the moment that Kat spotted a sign that said, "Welcome Grease Monkeys, Bronze Age, and Gala."

Her bag dropped to the ground as she turned toward me with a fierce expression. "Explain, Patrick."

Nobody liked this kind of surprise. "Gala was a last minute addition to the Bronze Age tour. In fact, Selina suggested it."

Kat's eyes nearly bugged out. "Is that so? Was that before or after I joined the tour?"

I was confused. "This has nothing to do with you."

Her wintry laugh sent a shiver down my spine. "Answer the question."

"It was last week. You remember I told you that Ivy had pulled out and we needed someone similar to fill the bill. I was glad Selina came up with a name, because they are great."

She sighed heavily. "Yeah, I guess."

"It's no big deal. The lead singer Donna is a real sweetheart and I'm sure you guys will get along."

"You have no idea," Kat said flatly.

Clearly something was on her mind. "Talk to me, Stratford," I said, touching her shoulder and drawing her down to a nearby couch.

"It's complicated."

"It always is with you. What else?"

"That lead singer…we have a history."

"So what?"

"Umm, you remember that rather famous photo of me making out with another girl?"

I knew it well, and it made me hot just looking at it. "Sure."

"The other girl was Donna Rae."

*******

Kat  
Los Angeles

Donna Rae was my first serious love affair, one that lasted for an entire summer. It was also close to the time when I stopped talking to my Dad.

She'd been the one to end it with me, but I was fairly sure the attraction would still be palpable. I mean, who could resist a Junoesque blonde with the voice of an angel? Donna knew she was seriously sexy, and sometimes she dallied with men, but I suspected she was really batting for the other team full time. Knowing Donna, she would make a pass or three, and it would be difficult to turn her down when my body remembered how she could make me feel. But my body also yearned for Patrick's touch, and he scorched me to a crisp whenever he looked at me a certain way, which was most of the time these days.

I know she would question my attachment to Patrick, but I could not let it come between us. In fact, no sooner had the door closed behind us then we were at it, again and again and into the wee hours of the morning. It was after 3 when I finally cleared my head enough to sleep, but I was up like a rocket at 7, wanting to jump into my routine and hopefully find a punching bag so I could get rid of some anger.

That was not in the cards, because not five minutes after I started running on the treadmill, someone pushed through the door and stopped short at the sight of me. It was Michael Lee, Gala's rather handsome drummer, and an old friend from my college days. "How the hell are you?" he said when he got over his shock at seeing me.

I slowed the treadmill enough to talk and smiled tightly. "Can't complain. How about you?"

He shrugged as he unracked some dumbbells. "Could be better, but at least it pays the bills."

"How's Donna treating you?" It no longer hurt to say her name, but this whole situation was rather skeevy.

"Same as always. I heard about you and Verona. Congratulations."

My smile was more genuine this time. "Thanks."

"You must be rather freaked at us showing up like this," Michael said as he started some bicep curls.

"Not much," I replied casually, managing to keep my inner panic suppressed.

"Really?" He seemed astonished at my lack of concern. "Because if Donna had pulled a stunt like that on me, I would have dropped her off the nearest cliff."

"What stunt?" I was puzzled by his comment.

"Oh, I don't know, the one where she paid off some paparazzi to catch you two in a clench?"

My heart was suddenly beating so loud that it threatened to burst through the top of my head. I took a few deep breaths and felt my center return. "That's absurd. Donna would never do something like that."

"Sure she would. You only _think_ that you know her, but I can assure you, she is more than capable of fucking with people."

But we were in love…someone who truly loved you would never do that. "Why would she do that?"

"Because, you were a naïve little prude who was way too concerned about what other people thought of you, so Donna figured she was doing you a favor."

"A _favor_?" I exclaimed. "She ruined my life."

Michael shook his head with a smile. "Maybe for awhile, but it looks like you've turned things around."

"Not completely. My Dad still isn't speaking to me."

"That's his loss then."

"Maybe. So I heard Selina suggested you guys as the opening act."

"Sure did. But I bet you don't know the _real_ reason."

"To make me squirm?"

He laughed. "Same old self-absorbed Kat."

"So if it's not about me, then what gives?"

"Use your eyes and that camera of yours at that charity thing tonight. You might be surprised at what you find out."

"She's bonking the leader of Bronze Age? Now that would be news."

Michael wiped his brow with a towel and offered another smile. "Even _he_ has higher standards. Look closer to home."

******

Patrick  
Los Angeles

I thought Kat would be happy when I requested a different room on a separate floor from the other bands, but all she did was nod and look away. From the time she returned to our room until after breakfast, she stayed silent and looked out at the city. The check came and she threw down some money. "Walk with me awhile," she said quietly.

So we walked and walked and finally caught a cab to Griffith Park. We got to the summit and were happy to see that the observatory was open, even if we looked at nothing but the sun. As I peered through a solar filter at the sun's corona, she asked, "Did you ever do Donna?"

I moved so fast that I banged my forehead on the eyepiece. "Sounds like a bad porn flick," I joked, but her face was so serious that I suppressed my smile and said, "Never."

Kat searched my face and finally nodded like she believed me. "Thank God."

"Why, is someone talking trash about me?" I asked.

"No."

"Because I have nothing to hide. Ask me anything."

She seemed to consider her words carefully before saying, "I ran into Michael Lee at the gym, and he said that Gala joining the Bronze Age tour has nothing to do with me."

"Of course not. Didn't I say that?"

Kat nodded. "Yeah, I guess. It's just something Michael said about the real reason they came on board."

"And what would that be, other than a chance to draw in fans?" I asked, folding my arms as we walked out to the balcony and observed the hazy Los Angeles day.

"He told me to keep my eyes open and my camera ready. Oh, and something about looking close to home for an answer."

I connected the dots to the question Kat had just asked me and skipped on ahead to another revelation. "That makes sense. Selina and Donna are really close friends, so I'm not surprised she would pull favors for her, especially if it gives Gala more exposure."

Kat's face shifted from confusion to total comprehension. "Ah, you're totally right, and I can't blame Selina for suggesting Gala."

Her complete turnaround was a bit sudden, and before she turned away, I caught a slightly smug smile that disappeared behind her waterfall of hair. She was happily engaged with being here with me and suggested we enjoy the day. And as it turned out, we had a great time playing tourist, but in the back of my mind, I was not reassured by the act she was putting on.

*****

Kat  
Los Angeles

My mind spun at a million miles an hour. Selina and Donna were close friends with benefits, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.

I managed to put my best foot forward and rather enjoyed my performance, but Patrick saw right through me. At one point, he asked, "Want to tell me what's going on?"

My hands grabbed at my goblet and I gulped down half my wine. "Tell me, do you really believe Donna Rae is sweet?"

"Sure. Why?"

My conscience, which sounded far too much like my Dad, told me I should come clean. Tell him what went down with Donna setting me up and let him make up his own mind. But the darker side of me said that we all get what we deserve, and what goes around comes around. I tried a half truth. "She burned me, so I guess I wonder what people see in her."

He rubbed my shoulder. "You have to let this go."

Sage advice, but not easy for a human pit bull. "I'll try." Now that was a complete lie, but he bought it…for now.

As soon as I had a moment to myself, I dialed my old friend Stan White, who was a stringer for The Star and The Weekly World News. "Hey there. I may have a scoop for you. Think your press pass can get you into the Save the Ocean benefit tonight?"

"Not a problem. Mind telling me what this is about?"

"Can't. But I promise if I get the shot first, I'll give you full credit for it."

"That's really sweet of you."

"It's nothing." And besides, I didn't want my name associated with what I had planned.

******

Patrick  
Los Angeles

"You can't wear that," I protested upon seeing Kat's smart black suit.

"Why not? This is a charity event, not Cinderella's ball."

I chuckled. "You're forgetting something. This is Plasticland, where appearance counts for everything."

Kat snickered. "We're trying to save the ocean, not compare our Jimmy Choos."

I was pretty sure that Kat's Doc Martens were so far off the worst dressed list that they didn't qualify. "Don't you have something a little more…dressy?" If I'd used the word feminine she would have clubbed me and thrown me off the roof.

"It's either these or my purple Keds."

"What about those cool shoes you wore in New York?" I'm sure my dreamy face ratted me out as I recalled her wrapped in sexy silk with chopsticks in her hair.

"Borrowed."

There might be something I could do. I dialed up my friend Justin, who was head buyer at a downtown boutique. He answered on the third ring and I murmured my request and when he asked her size, I grabbed her sneaker and read off the label. "10 Wide."

Justin commented, "She must be a big girl."

I took in a great view of Kat's backside as she bent down to pack some photo gear. "Only in the places that count."

"High heels or flats?"

She was definitely not in the spiked heels category. After that first date of ours, she'd done nothing but complain about her lousy shoes. "Black ballerina flats if you have them."

"Sure do. When do you need them?"

"How fast can you get them to me?"

He agreed to drop them off at the hotel at the top of the hour. "You must really like this girl."

Like was an understatement. "Yeah."

I hung up and announced, "Your shoes are all set."

Kat looked up from her collection of lenses. "I know. It's the Doc Martens. They match my suit."

"While I admire your superb color sense, I think you need an upgrade."

"Says who?"

"Me and the head buyer at Lafferty's. You'll have some flats within the hour."

She cocked her head. "O, master of puppets, I commend you for pulling so many strings, but it's really not necessary."

I looked straight at her dusty boots. "Actually, it's 911 for those babies. Come morning, we're going straight to Rodeo Drive."

Kat clapped her hands together and treated me to one of her mockingly sweet faces. "Why settle for beer when you can have champagne? I'm so there, but be warned, despite appearances, I'm up on my fashion trends."

"Of course you are. C'mon, let's hit the bar for a few rounds."

*****

Kat  
Los Angeles

The hotel bar revealed no less than three members of Gala (Donna was thankfully absent) shooting the breeze with Brad and Luis, who gave me the once and twice over when they saw my boots. "Let me guess, garbage dump?" Brad said, his mouth wreathed with foam.

"Haha, bet my boots have seen more action than yours," I joked before straddling a chair and earning more amused glances.

"Maybe we should hook them up," Luis suggested with a mock leer.

"Ooh, can they sit side by side on the tour bus?" I accepted a glass of chardonnay from Patrick and moved over so he could fit another chair at the table.

Patrick raised an eyebrow and stared down at my feet. "Only place they're going is the dumpster."

"I'll have you know, these aren't just _any_ shoes. They've traveled the world, from the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro to the steppes of Siberia. There's a history here, and I think we need to respect that," I said with a straight face, knowing everyone was on the verge of cracking up.

"Amen to that." Brad hoisted his glass and we all clinked ours against his. "Here's to Doc Marten the World Traveler."

Luis piped in, "And let's not forget the naked mole rats."

Michael, Jack, and Rick looked confused, but the rest of us (with our shared history) started laughing and didn't stop until Donna Rae and Selina crashed the party.

*****

Patrick  
Los Angeles

The tension spiked as soon as Donna opened her mouth. "Kat, darling, where have you been hiding?"

Kat's mouth twisted into a half smile. "Sweet, precious, Donna, it's been forever. Where _does_ the time go?"

She made no move to get up and kept her feet twined with mine in plain sight. "Hey, Donna," I said, my fingers finding Kat's hand and tucking it between us.

Donna put her claws on my shoulder, more to check out my muscles than by way of greeting. "Patrick, you look divine."

My quick glance took in her unflattering Stevie Nicks bob and long, scrawny frame. I turned to Kat and caught a quickly masked look of disgust. "Likewise." My lie was apparent to everyone except Donna, who ruffled my hair and plopped herself next to me.

One by one, the guys excused themselves and left the three of us. "I'm surprised Selina isn't tagging along," Kat said with a falsely bright smile

"She's still deciding what to wear. Too bad she's not more like you," Donna said with a pointed glance at Kat's boots and business attire.

I put my arm around Kat's shoulder and pulled her close. "She's one of a kind." So back off, bitch.

Kat turned her head sideways and speared Donna with her dark eyes. "What do you want, Donna?"

Donna sighed dramatically. "Very well. Selina and I were wondering if we could catch a ride with you all. My car has a flat and I just hate to ride in cabs."

You could practically hear the clacking of our eyeballs rolling around in unison. "Sure. You have ten minutes."

"Thank you _so_ much." Donna extended her arms and looked ready to throw them around Kat.

My arm was suddenly pulled backward as Kat exited her chair and moved to stand behind me. "No need to thank me," she murmured with an odd note in her voice.

Donna moved off and I looked straight up at my beloved. "When did she go all Marianne Faithful?"

"Since she started riding the horse."

As in, heroin addiction. It was the only thing that could explain Donna's desiccated appearance: I'd seen mummies with more life in them.

Kat started to sit down but stopped at the arrival of my friend Justin, who handed me a box and smiled at Kat. I discreetly signed a receipt and tried not to let my eyes pop out at the amount, and as I handed it back, Justin leaned over and said, "All the right places, indeed."

******

Kat  
Los Angeles

**Note**: This scene borrows an idea from Some Kind of Wonderful.

I fished a torn photo from my wallet and showed it to Patrick. "Meet the Donna that was."

His lips twitched as he compared the lush blonde of yesteryear to the Keith Richards wannabe that had just shambled out of here. "No wonder you were wrapped around her," he said lightly, noting my close proximity to the subject.

My eye roll was accompanied by an exasperated sigh. "Give it here," I commanded, hating the sweet, naïve look on my face all those years ago.

Patrick handed back the photo along with my car keys. "You doing the honors, Jeeves?"

My smile widened. "_Absolutely."_

We walked out to the lobby and I made a disgusted sound at the sight of Donna and Selina waiting for us. "I'm gonna love this one. I can feel it."

Patrick smirked and whispered, "How very John Hughes of you."

I plastered a smile on my face and kept it there the entire time we waited for the valet to fetch our car. Patrick started to get in the front but was beat to the punch by Selina, who shoved him aside and glowered up at me in triumph. He gave the seat back an extra hard push as he got in back and grimaced when Donna slid behind the driver's seat and parked her bony butt as close to Patrick as she could get away with.

My smile was stretching my cheeks to the breaking point. With an artful giggle, I proclaimed, "Well then, we're off."

Donna tapped my shoulder. "Hey, why does this seem so familiar?"

"Why, I have no idea," I said innocently, though of course Desiccated Donna should have known that we'd viewed this movie at least a dozen times, pausing on the same scenes so often that we'd worn out two DVDs.

The traffic was typical LA, but it gave me time to watch my prey like a hawk. And sure enough, as we got closer to our destination, Donna whipped out her lipstick and I saw a rare pothole a dozen yards ahead. With a burst of gas, I sped straight for the pothole and only swerved around it at the last second, but it was enough to draw a bright red zigzag from cheek to cheek. Patrick barely managed to suppress a smile as I swerved a second time, and another swatch of color decorated Donna's nose and pushed her into clown territory. "Do you mind?" Donna intoned flatly.

I flashed my shit eating smile. "Yeah, I kinda do."

She kicked my seat back and this time I guffawed. "Parfait," I announced to the sky dramatically. "Thanks for the encore, D. You made my night."

Selina glared at me. "You owe her an apology."

"Do I?" I shot back, seeing our destination coming up fast on the horizon. There was ample parking and before I exited, I said, "You wanted a ride, so I gave you one. Get over it."

Patrick helped me put the ragtop up and his hand caught mine for a moment. "You handled yourself well."

"Did I now?" I pretended to preen and he shook his head at my antics. "You promise not to take off Rory's head?"

Rory was the annoying lead singer from Bronze Age, but he was small potatoes compared to the two sluts teetering ahead of us on their spike heels. "Scout's honor," I said, mimicking one of his long ago expressions.

His eyes crinkled in memory. "Just so you know, any _other_ body part is up for grabs."

"Yours or his?" I cracked.

Patrick swatted my butt and whispered, "Behave, Kat Lady."

*****

Kat  
Los Angeles

I spotted Stan waiting by the entrance and signaled for him to follow me. He got in without a problem and I moved toward the bar. Patrick had seen the whole thing and asked, "Whatcha up to, Stratford?"

"That guy's a friend of mine from RSDI. We might hoist a few shots and talk shop. Do you mind?" I asked quietly.

"Naw, I can amuse myself with the glitterati." His hand swept around dramatically and I nearly whistled at the number of celebrities in residence.

"I suppose Bronze Age is going to perform," I said with a fake yawn. "Maybe they'll do their anthem…The Little Old Lady vs. the RIAA."

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Cute. I'll make the rounds and rejoin you when the show starts."

The part I was looking forward to was after the show when everyone got trashed. There were multiple things I could do to Rory "I Stuck it to Grandpa Joe" Thomas, but my best work would be saved for the Slut Sisters.

And there they were at the bar, knocking back 151 like it was go-go juice. With my best shark's smile, I swept past them and met Stan at the end of the bar. "So, it's been what, ten years?" I shook his hand, remembering a New Year's Eve party in Providence where half our photography class showed up and extended the festivities for several days.

"Give or take. So who are you hooking me up with, doll face?" Stan was a young guy who'd overdosed on TV Land in college. His dialogue was sprinkled with euphemisms

"See those two crones chatting with Courtney Love?" I barely spared them a glance but saw that Stan had them in his sights.

"Wow, is that Donna Rae? What hagged her out?" Stan asked.

"H," I replied. "So, if one or both of us can catch those two in a clench, what would it be worth to you?"

He laughed. "Are you kidding? Selina leaving the Monkeys is big news, and finding out she likes the girls? Pure gold. It'll be a feeding frenzy before this is over."

I shook his hand again. "It's been a pleasure. Look for my call tomorrow."

We parted ways and I kept my distance from the bar. An hour passed, and I finally saw my targets moving slowly toward the fringes of the crowd. I anticipated that the nearest bathroom would be out, as there were too many people milling about. And sure enough, they headed for the stairs and the long, double-sided restroom with two entrances. It was perfect for a tryst (I was the queen of quickies, trust me), and also a great place to ambush them.

Tonight I was Stealth Girl. All my honking SLRs were stashed safely back in our hotel suite. I had my trusted Panasonic with the long zoom and the fast lens that also happened to fit neatly into my pocket. It was as unobtrusive as it got, and allowed me to catch quick shots of unsuspecting celebrities with their mouths stuffed full of food. My shot of Courtney Love dousing herself with beer was a classic, and another snap of Lindsey Lohan making nice with Paris Hilton was also destined for the hall of fame. But my Pulitzer winning moment was within my grasp, and I wasn't disappointed when I slipped into the bathroom behind D and Selina.

The place was empty and they were already in full play when I stuck my head around the corner and saw them reflected in the wall of mirrors. With a silent flick of my fingers, I zoomed in, did the half press to focus sharply, and neatly captured a shot of the Slut Sisters making out, tongues stuck down each other's throats. Hell, it was already moving past first base and my second shot caught D's mouth and hands on Selina's chest. Snap, snap, went my camera and I finished my sequence by coughing loudly.

Their heads clacked together painfully and when they saw it was me, dark red spots appeared on Selina's cheeks. Donna had the grace to flush and turn away for a moment to compose herself. "Ladies, they're looking for you to do a dedication…if you don't mind."

Selina challenged, "How much did you see?"

I laughed. "That depends. How much rope do you want?"

Her mottled face darkened. "If you tell Patrick about this, I'll kill you."

"Ooh, I'm quaking." I pretended to snap a photo and finished with, "Soon the whole world will know your secret."

Donna looked around Selina and stopped her from running at me with a surprisingly quick grab at her elbow. "So you know," she slurred.

"Sure do, D. And you know what? The getting even part feels freaking awesome."

I waved at both of them and trotted out of there at high speed. Stan saw my face and knew I had the goods. When I showed him the preview, he smiled. "That first one is da bomb. The others are better suited to the web."

He palmed my storage card just as Patrick caught sight of me and motioned me to join him downstairs. "Cool. Do your worst."

******

Patrick  
Los Angeles

Kat looked way too pleased with herself, and I was reminded of a smug cat with canary feathers sticking out its mouth.

Something big had gone down, and nobody was talking. But judging from the murderous glances being hurled at Kat's back, it had everything to do with Selina and Donna Rae. Every so often, she turned around and waved at the two of them like a kid in a candy store.

"What the hell did you do?"

Her only answer was, "You'll see."

Bronze Age came back for an encore and Kat actually sang along with one of their songs. The crowd rushed the stage at the end of the show, and we managed to sneak out of there (without our companions) and head back to The Riot House for the after party.

All too soon, we were followed down the boulevard by a series of honking cars, and the mayhem continued at the hotel, where we'd booked the roof for our celebration. Booze flowed freely, and healthy fruit on a stick appeared alongside pigs in a blanket.

For hours, we danced and laughed and drank way too much wine. Kat was hanging with Brad and Luis (again) and it seemed like the three of them had formed an unlikely bond that excluded Selina, who'd never made much of an attempt to befriend them.

Kat was not even close to trashed when people started passing out, but when I said we should take our leave, she urged me to go on without her. I was reluctant to leave her behind, but Luis whispered that he had her back and would protect her from the brujas at the bar.

I stepped over Donna Rae, who was crumpled on the ground next to Courtney Love and Billy Corgan. Selina flagged me down and hissed, "Your girlfriend is not who you think she is."

"Meaning?"

"Why don't you ask _her_?"

"I will. And _thanks_ for your concern." I patted her on the head and laughed when she swatted at me.

*****

Kat  
Los Angeles

It was a dream come true.

Rory had fallen off his bar stool and was dead to the world. With a gleeful smile, I took a Sharpie and painted a dick on his cheek. On the other cheek, I wrote, "I am a petty, arrogant little prick." I made sure to capture the moment for posterity with my camera, and then stepped over him and was met with applause from Brad and Luis.

"Way to go, Kat Lady." Brad held up his beer and clinked it against mine.

I smiled. "I think I'm done here, boys. Have a good night."

Patrick was fast asleep when I returned and I watched the rise and fall of his chest and felt peace seep through me. My clothes fell away as I jumped in the shower and cleaned off the crud from my body. It had been a long, trying day and I was ready to quit this place.

Unfortunately, the Monkeys had three nights at the Whiskey, which meant more occasions to bump into Selina. These were her last shows with the band, and Patrick's friend Jess would finish the tour with them. I remembered flirting with him every time I visited the record store where he worked, and thought it would be fun to see him again.

Sleep came faster than expected, and when I next awakened, it was past 11 and Patrick was looking down on me with fondness. "Tell me what went down," he said gently, and that's when I saw the tabloid spread across his hip.

"You're not mad?" I asked.

He picked up the paper and smirked for a moment. "Naw."

"But?"

"I want to know why you did this."

All those memories of me and D came flooding back, along with the pain she'd caused me. But that was tempered by anger at how she'd set me up. "Because she did it to me first."

Patrick stroked my cheek with his long, tapered fingers. "And you had to get even."

"Seems so."

"And now that it's out of your system?"

"We can return to our regularly scheduled banter." I looked around and spotted some covered dishes across the room. "Let's eat."


	10. San Diego Ocean Rising

9. San Diego-Ocean Rising

Patrick  
San Diego

All hell broke loose around us. Lawyers came flying at Kat, only to be ably deflected by Damon. Bottom line was they didn't have a pot to piss in, and nobody could prove she took the shot that turned Selina into an overnight sensation.

Despite Selina's many protests, she became an instant staple on the shock show circuit and was even courted by late night TV. Her trip home to Spain? Completely forgotten in the maelstrom of publicity.

Donna Rae disappeared to an expensive detox center, and her band reformed under a different name, moving to Europe and starting from scratch.

Kat had done them both a huge favor, in that roundabout way of hers. I know she was aware of this, but she never spoke of it.

Critics said I should man up and keep 'my little woman under control'. It made Kat crazy when she read these accounts, so I tried my best to shield her from the media. Everything they said was true. I couldn't control her, and I wasn't about to start trying.

She was my wild filly, all headstrong and foaming at the mouth once she grabbed that bit and set a course of action. I let it happen, because nobody could stop her. When you're dealing with a force of nature, you learn to hold on until the storm abates.

I could tell her that getting even never solved anything, because I'd been that guy. It had earned me years of therapy and suppressed anger that ate away at my insides (my Tums addiction started in 8th grade).

My greatest triumph was paying back all the assholes by becoming the success that I am. Fame and celebrity were earned, and in the beginning, I enjoyed every decadent second of my life. But drugs, booze, and endless bimbos couldn't plug the holes in my heart, and I decided to toss it all aside. This happened about 6 months before I approached Kat, and when we connected, I knew what was meant to be.

And it seemed I'd convinced her to join her life with mine. She wore the promise ring proudly, and I often caught her staring at me when she thought I wasn't looking. It was love that I saw, even if she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

She wasn't the only one with constipation of the tongue.

Those three simple words killed me every time I thought about saying them.

_I love you._

I'd never said that to anyone—not even Aunt Rachel, though I loved her dearly. After my parents died in that crash, I'd retreated into myself and never truly emerged until Kat came into my life.

I closed that door with my ham-fisted ignorance, chasing her away for a good 15 years, until I saw an opportunity to make it right.

That door was cracked open again, and I planned on taking it off its hinges and learning to live again—with her at my side.

All this passed through my head as we moved closer to home. When we got to La Jolla, I directed Kat to an offbeat little lane that wasn't even marked. I pointed to a dirt driveway that twisted around a stand of trees. We arrived at the gate, which I opened with my remote. She continued driving down the now well paved road, lined by a colonnade of stately oaks. About a quarter mile later, we arrived at the front portico of my sprawling house. My housekeeper Nita waited with Rachel, and I hopped over the door and crushed them both in a hug.

Kat approached more cautiously and flashed an uncertain smile at Rachel, who smiled back broadly and folded her into a warm hug. I then introduced her to Nita, who took both of Kat's hands in hers and shook heartily. She was as round as she was wide, but there was no one I trusted more to manage this place while I was on the road. There were counterparts at my European villas, but I had decided to put those places on the market. They represented a far flung lifestyle that no longer suited me. My home was here by the sea, in this amazing retreat, with its private beach and spectacular views of sky and sea.

This was where I wrote the bulk of my music, and where half of my band's work had been recorded. And it was where I hoped to live with Kat—if she'd accept the offer promised by that ring.

*******

_Now the thick warm cream light fades down into the mist from the sea  
Three surfers - tiny black specs out across in the great waves_

Twilight Home, Lyrics by Justin Sullivan

Kat  
San Diego

I'd only seen places like this in glossy architectural magazines. It was a place of light and air and I instantly felt at home. There were gorgeous glass sculptures whose cost would have made me faint, and some Monets and Renoirs that had to be originals. But interspersed with the fabulous art was a level of comfort that smacked of a well-loved crib. Leather and suede sofas and chairs dominated the living room, with its skylights, paddle fans, and vaulted ceiling. Solid hardwood end tables and a long cherry coffee table broke the flow of furniture.

Patrick showed me how to operate the controls for the audio and video system, and before long, we were surrounded by some vintage Rolling Stones that followed us from room to room as we explored.

Each room was a new marvel, and I sighed at his exquisite taste in color and design. Warm colors mutated to cooler blues as we approached the bedroom wing. There were five guest rooms with private baths (the pale lavender suite was mine) and he finally swung open the double doors to the master suite.

Words could not adequately describe this space. It stretched from front to back and had a private veranda that wrapped around to the back. A staircase led down to the beach and boathouse. My mouth opened at the floor to ceiling wall of glass that had inset panels of Tiffany glass (I asked, it's the real deal). I craned my neck and took in all the colors, knowing I'd have a field day with my camera. "You've created your own personal art house. I love it."

Patrick smiled that lazy smile that was pure sex on a stick. His warm, chocolate eyes caressed my face fondly as he said, "So glad you approve."

I caught a faint whiff of sarcasm behind his very real pleasure in my assessment. "How did you find this place?"

He sighed. "It kind of found me when I came to a gallery showing up here. The road beckoned and then I discovered it was up for sale. The owner lost everything in the last recession and was letting it go for a song."

A song probably still meant multiple seven figures. "Cool. So is the cute purple room meant for me?"

Patrick was good at shuttering his emotions, but I still caught the flash of disappointment in his eyes. "Sure. If that's what you want."

I suddenly felt like I was treading on shaky ground. "I just figured…maybe you'd want some space."

He closed the gap between us and touched my cheek with one hand. "Why do you think I brought you here?"

"To show off?" That was the easy answer.

"That's a given," he said with a smirk. "But you know it's not the reason."

Did I? Was I willing to entertain what the promise ring really meant? "So that guest room…you didn't have me in mind?"

Patrick let his fingers trail down my arm. "_Maybe_. Does it matter?"

I shrugged, but he sensed the tension in my forearm. "So you're thinking of something more…like this." My arm swept out to indicate the cozy looking king bed that dominated one wall, covered with a real bedspread that appeared to be custom designed for it.

He murmured, "Something more _permanent."_

His lids were heavy as he leaned in and kissed me so sweetly that it felt like the good part of the dream you never want to end. And then Prince Charles swept me into his arms and carried me swiftly to his bed, where he proceeded to ravish me endlessly.

*****

Patrick  
San Diego

It was late afternoon and approaching the hour when photographers and artists chase the light. I sat in the chair near the bed and watched the shadows play on her face. Her face was relaxed as it almost never was when awake, and Kat was impossibly beautiful to behold.

My pencil sketched away as she turned slightly toward me, with cheeks dappled in golden light. Drawing was something I had always done with only a few art classes under my belt. It was the only thing besides music and sex that relaxed me, and I took advantage of any down time to get out the sketch pad and let my imagination run wild.

The sheet slipped off her shoulder and fell away to reveal her naked splendor. With a smirk, I roughly sketched in those amazing curves, knowing how little she would appreciate my efforts. After she smacked my arm and called me a sexist pig, she would launch into some feminist tirade about taking advantage of helpless women (as if). But of course, I could say that she'd photographed me in the altogether, and had I complained?

Thing is, I liked how she looked at me. Kat's desire for me had always been transparent, going all the way back to my strip tease in the hall on the day of the Filthy Souls concert. Or the time in shop when I'd been doused with oil, so pissed off that I'd barely noticed her frank appreciation of my naked chest. Later of course, she was all over me, and I loved every second of it.

Another movement pushed the sheets even lower and I smiled at the answering heat in my groin. If we kept up this way, we'd never make it out of the bedroom. It wasn't only making up for lost time, it was reveling in the now and the sheer wonder of having her at my side.

*****

Kat  
San Diego

Patrick cooked cedar plank salmon for me that night and it was the best thing I had ever tasted. Perhaps it was the sea air, or the gorgeous, deep voiced man-boy who waited on me hand and foot. I can't say for sure, but this place was magical and I never wanted the adventure to end.

We cleaned up the dishes and ended up flinging soap suds at each other. I laughed so hard my sides hurt and I finally sobered up when my phone rang.

The caller ID said Bianca and I showed it to Patrick before answering. "Hey, sis. Good to hear from you. How's it going?"

"Same as ever. Lola is driving me crazy with her causes, and Sarah has grown another two inches."

I smiled with pride at the mention of my favorite niece. "Aww, she's a chip off the old blockhead aunt. How's Cameron dealing with all the hormones?"

Bianca laughed. "He hides in his study."

"What about you?"

"I've taken up screaming. You should try it sometime. It's very therapeutic."

My sister was only half kidding. "I'll take that under advisement."

"So the reason I'm calling…we're having a picnic this weekend, and we'd love it if you guys could come."

"Will Dad be there?"

"Yes, and he's bringing Rachel."

Patrick was listening in from his perch on the kitchen counter, looking delectable as always. "Really?"

"It's not the first time," Bianca explained. "We have dinner with them every other Sunday."

"Let me guess: pot roast, potatoes, and green beans."

"Bingo. But Dad's branching out. Last week, we had quinoa and eggplant parmesan with tofu."

My stomach curdled at the thought of eggplant, which gave me gas. And tofu? Forget about it. I was not part of the soy brigade, which was probably why I still ate seafood. "Text me the details, and I'll check with Patrick."

"No need. We're all going to his outdoor show together in Balboa Park after we eat."

Oh, goody. I barely get home and family is already suffocating me with plans and obligations. "Cool. See you there."

I disconnected and felt like hitting something. "And so it begins," I muttered ominously.

"What are we on the hook for now?"

"Picnic with the fam, including Wally and Rachel."

He rubbed my shoulder. "No sweat. Just pop a few Xanax and you won't give a crap about anything."

That was exactly what I'd done back in Boston, and he was calling me on it. "_Thanks_."

"Hey, you have to face him sooner or later."

I realized something else. "So do you, Patrick."

Patrick sighed. "Do I look worried?"

"No, but you should be."

He jumped off the counter. "Let's get out of here."

"And go where?"

His smile should have clued me in. "Anywhere. The beach?"

And with this reminder from that night at the dance, I acquiesced and followed him out to the deck and down the stairs to his little slice of heaven.

*******

_And I'll be there - where the sky touches the sea  
At the edge of the ocean where the beautiful world fades into the grey_

Ocean Rising, Lyrics by Justin Sullivan

Patrick  
San Diego

It was early morning and my sleeping beauty was still down for the count. I was pretty sure the food and our horizontal bop marathon knocked Kat straight into dreamland.

I headed for the surf and swam for awhile, just floating on my back and watching the clouds. It was a clear day, and a good time to visit old friends and do some touristy stuff that locals never bothered with.

Someone called my name and I squinted through the bright sun to see Rachel waving at me from the beach. She was holding up my swim trunks, which I left in an obvious place in case anyone caught me skinny dipping. I emerged with a smirk at her turned head and dried myself off before slipping them on.

"What brings you here so early?" I asked as we headed up the stairs and straight to the waiting coffee pot. We sat down at the deck and I poured for both of us. I mixed in some cream and figured this had to be about my current arrangement.

"Can't I visit my favorite nephew?" Rachel quipped.

I snorted. "What's the matter, Leo hitting you up for money again?" My brother was a drunken gambler, just like my father had been, and when he wasn't working at the garage, he was partying.

"Not lately," she said wistfully.

Rachel had tried her best with Leo, but even I could see he was a lost cause. "Good to know. Let me know if he bothers you again."

She sighed. "That's not why I'm here."

"Let me guess. Wally disapproves, and wants Kat to come home where she belongs."

Rach eyed me over her glasses and gave me the _look_. "He thinks you're taking advantage of her."

I tried not to smile, but I couldn't help myself. "Seems like I've heard that line a few thousand times."

"For good reason," Rach cautioned. "You're not exactly batting .1000 when it comes to commitment."

I would savor the next moment for a long time. "I gave her a promise ring."

The expression on Rachel's face was priceless. She looked so shocked that she nearly fell out of her chair. "Did you actually use _those_ words when you gave it to her?"

"Yeah, and I kind of told her I…_adored_ her." I grinned as she brought her hands up to her cheeks.

"Wow, Commitment City, complete with the keys to the city," Rach said as she looked around. She gave me a stern glance before saying, "You _did_ invite her to stay, right?"

"Yeah. So will I pass muster with the Spanish Inquisition?"

"Maybe, but I have to say, he's not big on living together." Rach looked slightly downcast before admitting, "I asked him to move in and he turned me down."

And wouldn't you know it, that was the exact moment that Kat decided to put in an appearance.

******

Kat  
San Diego

You could have knocked me over with a feather. "What the hell?" I said in total shock, resting my hand on Patrick's shoulder to steady myself.

Rachel's face had turned a becoming shade of pink. "Hey, Kat."

I continued to stare down at her in disbelief. "I knew you two were tight, but _this_…it's unexpected."

Patrick reached up and took my hand in his, directing me down to a chair with light pressure. "It'll be OK," he whispered.

I was annoyed, but only because I was hearing about this from someone outside the family. "Stop walking on eggshells, guys. So what if Rachel wants to shack up with my Dad? It's his loss if he's too stupid to say yes."

Rachel looked relieved. "I'm glad you understand."

How someone as liberal as Rachel could be even remotely interested in someone with my father's prehistoric views was one of life's great mysteries. But that was not for me to figure out, and if she wanted my blessing, she sure as hell had it. "I do. My Dad can be an ass, and I'll tell him that when I see him this weekend."

Patrick snickered. "Can I quote you on that when he runs me through the wringer?"

*****

Patrick  
San Diego

Rachel had breakfast with us and had us in stitches over some of her adventures with Wally. She was a kinder and gentler version of me, but sometimes I could see the mischief in her brown eyes when she spoke of him. "I agree that your father has difficult tendencies…" She paused to look over at Kat and we cracked up again.

"And it hasn't skipped a generation," I said with a smirk.

"Lucky me," Kat stated sarcastically.

"Try to remember that when we see you this weekend," Rach suggested as she got up from the table.

Kat gave her a hug and murmured, "I promise not to call him an ass." Her expression told me she had any number of other descriptive words to throw at her Dad.

Rachel's face brightened. "There, you see? That's a good start."

I added, "But don't give up praying to the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. These Stratfords need all the help they can get."

That earned me an elbow in the side. "See you soon," Kat said tightly.

"So, that was awkward," I commented, leaning against the railing and looking out to sea.

She laughed bitterly. "You think that was bad? Just wait until this weekend."

I slung my arm across her shoulders. "The hell with them. Let's go out and enjoy the day."

"Wow, you're letting me out of jail?" Kat joked.

"Only if you agree to letting me chain you back up at night," I countered with a half smile.

"With or without my leather?"

I squeezed the top of her shoulder. "Any way you want it. Get cleaned up and we'll go see the sights."

*****

Kat  
San Diego

We drove out to the Cabrillo Monument at Point Loma and for once, it was clear as a bell. The ocean was an amazing aquamarine and the city was sprawled at our feet like a skein of diamonds, skyscraper windows glinting in the noonday sun.

Patrick and I posed for each other, and even took up someone's offer to photograph us together. I thanked the Asian gent for taking such a great shot, and was even more relieved that there wasn't a hint of recognition on his face.

That wasn't the case when we went down to Seaport Village for lunch. A few girls caught sight of Patrick and it turned into a scene from A Hard Day's Night. We tried to escape to a café, only to be spotted from the ground by a funny guy with a parrot on his shoulder. Patrick suffered through lunch and signed half a dozen autographs for the wait staff, who were all fans of The Grease Monkeys. "Hope to see you at the show tomorrow," Patrick said on our way out.

We escaped onto the Midway, where we explored the nooks and crannies of the ship without anyone bothering us. I found a lot of interesting compositions with my camera, and only let Patrick spoil a few of them with his antics.

He was rather ebullient, and I belatedly realized that I had a little something to do with that. It was nice to see his lovely smile flash so often, and I nearly let the L word slip. I was wrapped in his arms, my back against his strong chest as we sat watching the sun slip into the sea out on Coronado Island. The bridge was lit up against the deep blue twilight, and in that second, it felt like the most perfect moment of my life. "Why didn't we ever do this before?" I asked softly.

Patrick kissed my ear and said, "Because it's the kind of lame ass stuff our parents get off on."

"Oh, God, have we turned into our parents?" I said with mock horror.

"Pretty much," he joked.

I thought of my Mom. "That's not always a bad thing," I said slowly.

He caressed my hair before tucking it behind my ear. "Thinking of your Mom?"

My breath shuddered out of me. "Yeah."

Patrick turned me to face him. "I think you got the best of them both. Your mother's looks with a hint of Wally the bull dog. Can't go wrong with that combo."

I laughed through my pain. "And what about you?"

"Aww, I'm just a chip off the old Rach," he said with his winning half smile.

Patrick never spoke of his parents, and I wasn't about to pry when it could break the spell this day had over us. "Then I'd say you're pretty lucky."

He touched his forehead to mine. "Me too."

*******

Patrick  
San Diego

This would be a difficult day, and we both knew it.

We were both quiet at breakfast, and I caught her looking out to sea more than once.

"It's mesmerizing," I said softly. "If you look at it long enough, you can lose yourself."

Kat looked at me for a moment. "You wrote a song like that once."

I was pleased that she remembered. "Well, it was me trying to copy Justin Sullivan."

She smiled. "You did a damned fine job with it."

She was referring to The Sea and a Spade, the story of a gambling sailor whose luck went south. "I may do more like it on the next album."

"Any reason why?"

I put my head in my hands and gazed at the light playing in her hair, painting a golden path from her forehead to the back of her neck. "For 15 years, I wrote about the girl that got away. And now that I've found her again, it's time to mix it up a bit."

A tear trickled down her cheek and splashed on the table. "Anyone we know?"

"She's looking right at me."

I pushed the Kleenex box over and she grabbed a handful. "For later, just in case."

"How bad is he going to ream me?" I asked mildly.

Kat smiled as she wiped away her tears. "Remember that sumo grip he had on your shoulder?"

"How could I forget?" That first encounter was particularly memorable, especially the parts where I made him turn five shades of red.

"Multiply that by 100 and you start to get the picture."

"Ooh, I better practice my quaking in case things get serious."

"My advice? Let him have his say and nod whenever he asks you a question."

"Noted. Anything else?"

"Give him some really expensive cigars."

"Your Dad smokes?" I asked in amazement.

"Only on special occasions, so make them Cohibas."

Leave it to Walter to empty out my pockets before I had a chance to hit the bank. "What about booze?"

"He likes Macallan."

That was one thing he had in common with Kat. She'd nearly cleaned out my supply on tour. "Think you can behave yourself while I head to the bank?"

"I can try," she said with shining eyes.

I picked up the keys to my SUV (a hybrid, of course) and hoped to God she didn't locate my office on the lower level. Because if she caught a gander of my Kat stash, she would know instantly that _I_ was the obsessed one. "I'll hold you to that," I warned with a smirk, pointing at her with my best Walter impression, which had the intended effect of cracking her up.

******

Kat  
San Diego

I had no intention of behaving. This was my chance to explore the hidden reaches of the ever mysterious Patrick Verona, who still held bits of himself at arm's reach.

He'd shown me two out of three levels. So what was the big mystery? Did he have a secret room where he stored his stash? Would I take apart an air conditioner and find all the body parts he allegedly removed from his victims?

With a slightly nervous laugh, I reminded myself that this wasn't Dexter (Dad might have blocked Showtime, but that never stopped me from tapping other sources), and I was not even close to a victim.

I found his studio, and picked up one of his Fender Stratocasters. It was plugged in and ready to go, and a flick of a power strip brought it to life. I popped in a Breeders CD and played along to Cannonball, pretending I was Kim Deal as I played the chords from memory. Then I switched over to Cheap Trick and had a ball riffing to I Want You to Want Me, and finally I ended with Alternative Ulster.

That ate up 15 minutes, and he'd be back soon, so I better hustle my butt to explore the rest of this space.

Next to his studio was a fitness room and several showers, which led out to his pool. A quick sweep revealed a cabana, several waterfalls, and a built in hot tub on one end of the pool. It was exquisitely landscaped, and I exclaimed in delight at the sight of several fountains on the terraces built on the side of the hill.

The final room had a closed door, but it opened easily to my touch. It was a large office, and I suspected he ran his label from home. There were cabinets stacked along the walls, and everything was neat as a pin. It was only when my eyes traveled up the wall that I started to quiver inside.

On the far side of the room was a shrine…dedicated to _me_. It seemed like every project, article, and interview I'd been involved with was documented here. And it all dated back to just after we broke up. My mouth went into fly catching mode as I spotted the photo essay I'd done for Velvet Crush just before Patrick turned up in Boston.

The bits that he'd been hiding were about me. By the time I heard a car door slam and was on my way up to the kitchen, I was completely flummoxed. I thought I was the only one who did crazy shit like this, and to discover that Patrick was equally obsessed with me put me beyond words.

*****

Patrick  
San Diego

I caught Kat reading an old issue of Guitar Player with me on the cover. She snapped it closed on and flashed me a deceptively sweet smile.

"What'd you do?" I asked with folded arms and a raised eyebrow.

"I've been here the whole time," Kat said evenly.

Long ago I'd told her that pretty girls are usually good liars, but someone as brutally honest as her couldn't possibly pull off more than a white lie. "Sure you have," I replied. "You played the Strat, didn't you?"

"Huh?" She continued to play dumb, and it didn't suit her.

"Aw, c'mon Stratford, just cop to it and all is forgiven," I joked as I emptied the many bags I'd lugged in from the garage. "I just dropped a wad on Wally. It's the least you can do."

"OK, _maybe_ I went downstairs, and _possibly_ discovered a guitar down there."

I chuckled. "No kidding. I left it out for you."

Kat protested, "But you told me it was off limits."

"I _did_? But that would mean you _disobeyed_ me," I intoned with fake menace rippling in my voice.

She jumped up and held her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, God, I better run before you zap me with your soul sucker."

I sauntered over to within a few feet of her and leaned against one of the pillars. "No batteries. But I could spank you…and get off it," I leered.

Kat giggled as I started after her, barely making the end of the couch before I pounced. She tried protecting her butt, but I was more interested in her unprotected parts. With glee, I started tickling her sides and had her laughing so hard that she lost control and rolled to the floor, pulling me down with her into an undignified heap. My cat Simon chose that moment to join the fray and went after my shoelaces, which had come unraveled in the struggle.

I was chuckling at the thought of how we must look, and smiled at the tears running down Kat's cheeks. If I could make her forget about her impending doom (read: family picnic with Dad) for even a second, it was worth it. When we finally calmed down, we lay on the floor with Simon purring on my chest. "So, did you find any skeletons?" I asked dryly.

"Nope, just corpses."

"Damn," I said with a snap of my fingers. "With all those closets you were exploring, I was sure you'd find _something_."

"Well, there is _one_ thing," Kat said softly.

I nuzzled her nose with mine. "What's that?" I asked hopefully, knowing full well she'd seen the wall in my office.

She murmured something in my ear and watched my face as the shock of her words registered. "I love you too."

******

Kat  
San Diego

I'd let the L word out of the bag and all I got was a lousy smirk in response? With a face that could have curdled milk, I pulled away from him and headed for the beach.

Patrick came flying down the stairs after me, but I was already sprinting away, needing to distance myself from my colossal mistake. How could I be so wrong about something?

He'd given me a freaking promise ring. What did that _mean_? Anyone could say they adored someone, but that could be akin to sweet nothings for someone like Patrick. I knew my own heart, but did I really know his? Touring with him and being at his side every day should have taught me something about him, but all I took away from it was that the sex was fantastic and talking was restricted to sarcasm and banter.

As I looked far down the beach, I could still see him striding purposefully toward me, taking his time and watching to see what I would do. His private beach gave way to Blacks Beach, and I finally found a bench and sat down. It took Patrick awhile to catch up and he finally took a seat at the opposite end of the beach. "What the hell was that about?" he asked with a sidelong glance.

"You tell me," I exclaimed. "I _finally_ tell you the one thing that I've _never_ said to anyone, and you _smirk_ at me."

Patrick sighed and dragged his fingers through his tousled curls. "You surprised me."

"You're kidding, right?" I got up and started pacing and his eyes followed me with a world weary patience that had always been his forte.

"Not about this." Patrick caught my arm on my tenth turn around the bench and stilled my movement. "You know I suck at all this romantic crap."

I started counting to ten and remembered his long ago comment about making out with me not being a big deal. "This _romantic crap_ is our future," I cried.

He pulled me gently around to sit next to him and held up my left hand, with the promise ring sparkling in the bright sun. "I know."

"So why can't you say those words to me?" My words were tinged with the hurt I felt, and he touched my cheek with the back of his hand.

"I already have," he replied after a long pause. "Don't you get it? I came to you in Boston, with the sole purpose of winning you back. I designed this whole tour around you, not because I needed the money or the exposure, but so I could get to know you again. And when I saw your poems and how much talent you have, I thought it was another way I could bind you to me."

The look on his face took my breath away, and a moment later, he was kissing me so hard that I thought I would pass out. "Did it work?" he whispered raggedly.

"Mmm," I said with a fierce nod before burying my face against his shoulder.

"I've never said those words to anyone, Kat."

"What about Rachel?"

"No one." Patrick curled his hand around mine and looked more serious than I'd ever seen him. His dark chestnut curls tumbled over his brow, but they couldn't obscure the love shining in his eyes. "I've always loved you, Kat. I was just too stupid to see it."

That brought out my smile and when he responded in kind, I felt the same familiar _whoa_ I'd experienced the first time at Club Bait when he'd let it loose on me. "And now?"

He kissed the palm of my hand. "I'm a little wiser…"

I coughed out the word bullshit and his smile widened.

"But I'll always be your Prince Charles...if you'll have me."

Note: Only one more chapter to go.


	11. San Diego Slow Speed Chase

**Note**: I fully intended for this to be the last chapter, but it got so long that I decided to split it. I promise that the next chapter will be the epilogue, and the end of the story. If you've stuck with it this far, thanks a bunch.

San Diego-Slow Speed Chase

Patrick  
San Diego

It was time to leave for the picnic. I had the 411 on how to get to Bianca's house (a block from her Dad's, how novel) and the best place to park (wtf, had she invited the whole city?).

Indeed, it seemed that this bash was not solely for our benefit. Half of Padua High's former jock squad was lurking on the lawn, beer guts overhanging their too small 501s. I smirked at puffy faced Beau Brody as I opened the car door for Kat, and he saluted me with a volley of air guitar before raising his beer can.

"Wow, who knew?" Kat remarked with a tight smile, looking around at the former flowers of the cheerleading squad, now dried up husks of their former selves.

"Look what happens when you can't spell freedom," I muttered, and earned myself an elbow jab.

Her dark eyes flashed in memory of that day we had taken a stand, her as Norma Rae and me as the water boy (a title I aspired to). "You want to chain me up?" she commented acridly.

"Anytime, Norma Rae," I said before kissing her ear and linking my arm through hers. "Here come the troops."

I heard Bianca before I saw her, and that was close enough for me, thank you very much. Her shrill tones had always jangled my nerves, and I always tried to minimize my exposure to her decidedly non-dulcet tones. "Girls, Aunt Kat is here. Could you please come down, and for God's sake, put those Pretendos away."

Kat and I whooped silently at Bianca's name for Nintendo handhelds. "Lola is a _huge_ fan of Rock Band."

"Ooh, will she challenge me to a duel?" I joked, wind milling my hands in my best Pete Townsend impression.

Kat raised an eyebrow. "She _might_, so you better watch your back."

The girls were nearly as tall as Bianca, and the complete antithesis of their bubbly parent. Sarah peered at us from under a baseball cap and mumbled hello, and Lola grunted at me and Kat. "So this is the infamous Patrick Verona," she commented with the obligatory pre-teen eye roll. "Can't see what the commotion is all about."

I met her indifference with a smirk and managed not to laugh when Bianca threw her daughter a nasty look. "They weren't raised by wolves…honest."

"Neither was I, and look how I turned out," I replied with a knowing glance at Kat, who smiled at her own words being reprised by her sister.

Bianca patted my arm. "Pretty well, I would say."

She and Kat performed the obligatory hug and air kiss ritual before smiling uncomfortably. "How long has it been?" Kat asked.

"Five years, four days, and three hours," Lola interjected in a bored tone.

"Wow, you have your math facts down," Kat commented with only a faint trace of mockery. "Or you're shilling for Pushing Up Daisies."

Lola's answering grin was the spitting image of Kat's at her devilish best. "I'm failing," she announced so just the two of us could hear.

"So you're not the next Stephen Hawking," I commented. "You'll find your path." Lola looked at me blankly before turning her attention back to her aunt.

"Is Grandpa keeping track of my time away?" Kat asked with a strange note in her voice.

"Yeah, he obsesses about it," Bianca replied.

Kat's brow furrowed. "That makes no sense. Why would he even care? He's practically disinherited me."

"No need to be melodramatic." Bianca looked over one shoulder to make sure Walter didn't suddenly spring up like a piece of day old toast. "He's beside himself with worry. Rachel is trying to calm him down, but he's in rare form today."

I thought about this morning's slow speed chase. "I know the feeling."

Kat gave me the evil eye before shuttering her expression. "Well, let's get to it then. By the way, why is half of Padua littering up your lawn?"

"Be nice," Bianca warned. "Everyone's back in town for our 15th reunion, so I thought it would be nice to have them join us."

"Oh, wow, and here I thought this was a family only event. I should have brought my naked mole rat wristbands so we could crank this party up to a nice respectable level," Kat quipped, borrowing only slightly from her favorite John Hughes movie.

"Patrick, keep her away from the booze. Daddy is here, and I don't need any more drama," Bianca implored.

"You sure? Because she actually approaches human when she's loaded," I cracked, only missing Kat's swat by a fraction of an inch.

We walked into the house and I instantly saw Walter's mottled face sitting at attention on the settee. "At long last, the prodigal daughter finally returns," he said without the slightest hint of a smile.

Oh, yeah, this was gonna be good, trust me on that.

******

Kat  
San Diego

My Dad stood up and actually shook Patrick's hand (without ripping it off). "I'm looking forward to your show tonight. Rachel's played me all your albums, and your work is…_expressive_."

Patrick smiled. "Thanks."

Dad raised his eyebrow slightly and looked at me. "Kat," he said simply. "Let's get some fresh air."

Patrick stepped aside and squeezed my hand before letting it go. "Sure," I agreed, happy to leave Bianca's claustrophobic house, which was dwarfed by a wide expanse of lawn with a lovely garden.

"You had a good trip across?"

"Pretty much." This was me and my Dad doing small talk, and I hated it. Our body language was stiff and immobile, and both of us were over guarding our tongues. I was ready to cut to the chase when he beat me to it.

"I'm glad to see you've finally come to your senses," he said, waving over at one of Bianca's cheerleading friends before putting out his arm to guide me away from the drunken masses.

"Excuse me?" I replied, my voice rising despite my best intentions. My attention wavered for a second at the sight of Patrick and Rachel moving in parallel to our position.

My father pointed to a bench, and I sat without argument. "I'm happy to see you with a _male_ companion, though you could do far better than that deep-voiced man boy."

Fifteen freaking years, and he still couldn't call Patrick by name. And more years than I could count of us rehashing the same old argument. "Just for the record, _Patrick_ is my _boyfriend_."

"Oh, is that what you're calling it?" My Dad looked over at Patrick and frowned. "Because the boy has a lousy track record."

That was true, but things were different now. "Not anymore."

Dad snorted angrily. "Really? Then let me refresh your memory. Boy rips girl's heart out because she chooses college over him. Ring any bells?"

My internal self-control was approaching pressure cooker status. "We've moved past it, Dad. Maybe you should too," I said sharply.

"And I suppose you expect me to move past the rest of it too?" His face was growing florid and I could see his blood pressure rising by the second.

"Which part?" I countered. "The part where I'm gay, or the part where I'm living with a rock star?"

He started fiddling with his fingers and I could see he was close to blowing a gasket. "I don't get you, Kat. You could have had anyone, and you've thrown it all away on what? A pretty boy with uncombed hair and a fast car."

By anyone, he meant the endless parade of doctors and lawyers he'd trotted past me through the years. "I haven't thrown anything away, Dad," I said quietly. "It may have taken me all these years to figure it out, but I'm right where I should be."

"For now," he shot back. "But what happens when he gets tired of you?"

Everything I knew about Patrick and what he meant to me threatened to spill over. But instead of picking that scab, I threw down the gay card. "Then I'll take up with one of my lesbian friends."

His brows beetled and I saw the tsunami coming at me. "So you _haven't_ left that lifestyle behind. Does the boy know you expect an open relationship?"

My fingers started forming into a fist, but I shoved my hand in my pocket to avoid hitting something. "First of all, it's not a _lifestyle_, Dad. I didn't _ask_ to be queer, I just _am_. It's not something I can turn on and off like a light switch. It's _part_ of me. And I'm sorry you can't accept that, but that's the way it is. And second, Patrick and I are in a _committed_ relationship."

"Meaning _what_?"

I flashed my promise ring in his face. "He gave me this, and I'm _living_ with him."

He looked none too pleased by this proclamation. "And you think that's something to brag about?"

For now, it was enough for me. "Yeah, I do."

"Then I guess we're done here," Dad replied in a slightly strangled tone.

That was the last thing he said to me for that entire day, and it took hours before I realized that I'd heard real regret in his voice.

******

Patrick  
San Diego

I have a reputation, and it's well deserved. Fathers, brothers, and beefy exes have done everything from shaking their fists to pulling a gun on me.

Wally is right to paint a bull's-eye on me, and if this were anyone but Kat, I'd be long gone.

But she's the _one_.

And somehow I have to cut through the bullshit and make him see that.

Rachel and I heard the whole exchange, and she was trembling with anger. I only felt bad because Wally had upset the two people who meant the most to me, and I didn't take that lightly. With a sigh, I asked, "You mind if I go catch up with Kat?"

She pushed me slightly, "Please, go make things right. I've tried reasoning with Walter, but it's like talking to a brick wall."

I kept my smile under wraps. "Why do we put up with them?"

"Because we love them. "

That floated in the air behind me as I strode purposefully toward Kat, but I stopped short when I saw her deep in conversation with Bianca. Their heads were together, and it looked like one of those girls only chats, so I moved toward the food.

Cameron was manning the grille, as every good husband should. His eyes brightened behind his wire frames when he spotted me, and he seemed ready to hug me. I held out my hand instead and said, "Dude, it's great to see you. Set off any model rockets lately?"

I half expected him to look sheepish, but he leaned his gangly frame toward me and admitted, "As a matter of fact, I was in charge of this year's rocket installation at Burning Man."

"Which explains the wild fires at Humboldt." I was completely deadpan, but he laughed easily at my joke.

Cameron took some burgers and dogs off the fire. "Burger or dog?"

"Both," I said as he slid them onto a plate and handed it to me.

"What, you're not into the whole vegan, raw foods scene?" Cameron said.

"No way. And neither is Kat."

"But I thought…" he started.

I laughed. "Pescetarian, and don't you forget it."

He looked over at Kat. "And if I do, she'll beat me into submission."

"Or Lola will."

Cameron looked over at his twins, who were probably up to no good. "Can you believe Bianca wants another baby?"

I set my plate on the wall behind me and folded my arms. "Why? You have the perfect family."

"That's what I say," Cameron replied avidly. "But she keeps going on about giving me a son."

Walter's gynecologic stench was all over this one. "She's been listening to her Dad again."

"And he's been colluding with my parents, because they're constantly throwing out hints."

"That's a lot of pressure," I commented, not sure how I felt about the whole kid thing.

"Tell me about it."

"Does Bianca always get what she wants?"

"Usually," he admitted. "Because the few times I took a stand were disastrous."

I'd learned a long time ago that the Stratford sisters were a force of nature, and the best thing to do was let them blow their fury around you and deal with them when they settled down. Bianca wasn't in the same league as Kat, but she could certainly hold her own.

With a clap to Cameron's shoulder, I said, "Well good luck with that. I have to head off to rehearse for the concert tonight."

"Thanks. Talk to you later."

******

Kat  
San Diego

Bianca headed me off before I reached the food. "I'm grouchy and hungry," I warned.

"And I'm pregnant," Bianca murmured.

I whirled around and nearly hit her with my outstretched hand. "No way."

"Yes way, and no one else knows," she whispered, blocking my path to the very last veggie burger, which Dawn was hovering over with predatory eyes.

"Do you mind?" I said a bit crossly.

"Go wild," Bianca said with mild exasperation, obviously expecting me to jump for joy because she had procreated…._again_.

I literally snatched the burger out of Dawn's red lacquered fingers and smiled at her nasty expression. "Nice to see you too." I saluted her and took a big bite of my burger (black bean, not bad).

"That was rude," Bianca retorted.

"And you expected what, the gracious and genteel manners of a Southern belle?"

"Even Scarlett O'Hara had her charms. You could learn from her."

I polished off the burger and wiped my mouth. "You do know she's fictitious, right?"

"I can't believe you. I tell you my big news, and you act like it's nothing special," Bianca complained as we found some seats away from her guests.

"Newsflash—it _isn't_. You're just one of many millions of women who continue to clog our fragile planet with children. And people wonder why we have global warming," I muttered.

"Thanks a lot. I expected compassion, not your political agenda."

"If you want compassion, go see a counselor. Was this planned?"

Her lips trembled a bit and I wondered if I had crossed the line. "Not exactly."

"You expect me to believe it was accidental? Has Dad taught you nothing with his procreation lecture series?"

"I got sick, and they put me on antibiotics, and it obviously nullified my birth control pills."

It could happen to anyone, though Bianca should have known better. "But you just _had_ to have sex with the Jolly Green Giant."

She frowned at my pet name for Cameron, who I secretly thought was perfect for her. "What are we, five?"

Hey, that was my line. "More like 2. Does Dad know?"

"Are you kidding? He'll alert the media and demand that my doctor step aside so _he_ can deliver the baby."

I shuddered at the thought of my Dad peering up my crack. "What about your business?"

Bianca was an extremely successful wedding planner, and her work took her all over the state. "I'll have to hire someone to run things while I'm out on leave."

And now, the inevitable question, "How far along?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm keeping it," Bianca said.

I looked up at her tiny cape house. "You'll need a new place to live, preferably _away_ from Dad."

"Not if we build an addition."

I groaned. "Don't you feel…claustrophobic?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But he makes a great babysitter."

That he did. I looked down at her empire-waisted shirt and knew she was hiding a baby bump. "Better not wait too long to spill."

"I plan on telling Cameron tonight, at the concert."

Ooh, maybe he'd set off some model rockets in honor of his incipient child. "Good. And Dad?"

"He has other things on his mind," Bianca said with a knowing glance at Patrick. "So when are you two gonna get hitched?"

I'd been sipping on some green tea and almost spit it in her face. "Never."

"You sure about that?" I followed her gaze toward Patrick and caught his sultry smile.

"Listen, Yenta, we're doing great and taking it slow."

She touched my promise ring. "Doesn't look like slow to me."

I actually felt heat rising to my cheeks as sexy, sweaty memories flooded my brain. "Can we talk about something else?"

"What else is there to say? You two are the talk of the town."

It appeared she was right. A lot of people were looking between me and Patrick and it was starting to creep me out. "I better jet. Catch up with me at sound check."

"Sure."

Bianca looked a bit downcast and I slapped myself mentally for shirking my sisterly duties. "Look, if this baby is what you want, then congratulations."

Her face brightened a little and she hugged me suddenly. "Thanks. Now go get your man."

I felt that odd flush again as I moved toward Patrick. "Let's get out of here."

"Is that an order?" Patrick said with his smirk firmly in place.

I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the crowd. "Unless you'd rather get down with the low hanging fruit."

He put his arm around me. "Not in this lifetime."

******

Patrick  
San Diego

Kat dropped the smartass routine as we pulled away from Bianca's party. "That sucked," she muttered, her head dropping back against the seat.

"What, you didn't like that flattering shade of red on Wally's face?"

"It clashes horribly with my _blue_ sentiments," Kat shot back. "Some of the stuff he said about you…"

I took the turn toward Balboa Park. "Aww, don't sweat it. At least he didn't threaten to shoot me."

Kat gave me a disbelieving glance. "That happened to you?"

"More than once." The shotgun had been wielded by an avenging brother, and the Walther PPK had been owned by a formidable woman with a Slavic accent (ex-KGB).

"Good thing my Dad hates guns," Kat said dryly.

"I've been known to dodge a bullet or two," I said with a straight face.

She punched my arm lightly. "This is real life, not Tomb Raider."

"Now she tells me," I said dramatically. "Look, once I ply Wally with hooch and smokes, he'll be so impressed that he'll agree to anything."

We stopped at a red light and she looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "You think you can bribe your way out of this?"

I laughed at her tone. "_Everyone_ has a price. Besides, it was _your_ idea, remember?"

"Yeah, so what? You should still be prepared for some major groveling."

We drove past the equipment trailer and I parked my Lexus. "I'll do whatever it takes."

She started to get out but I stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you up for doing an encore?"

Kat cocked her head. "I'm listening."

"You and me, one acoustic guitar, and Tattered. What do you say?"

"Sounds intriguing."

"But?" I heard the hesitation in her voice.

"What's the catch?"

"No tricks. Scout's honor."

Kat snickered. "On one condition. We dedicate it to Wally and Rachel."

"Done."

*****

Kat  
San Diego

Balboa Park was a lovely park, and I never got tired of the cool architecture, fountains, and the funky organ. Patrick and I spent a lot of time here when we were dating, and my memories were mostly good.

He'd arranged for a free concert on one of the long expanses of green, and people were already gathering when we pulled in.

Most notable were the members of C.O.P., who darkened the bright day with swirls of their capes. "I thought bats only came out at night," I said dryly.

Patrick snickered. "You mind carrying my acoustic guitar?"

"Sure." I pulled his Ovation out of the truck and followed him to an area behind the stage.

Luis and Brad were shooting the shit with Jess, who came straight at me with outstretched arms. Before I could react, he'd folded me into a bear hug. "Kat Lady, you look awesome," he crowed.

"Thanks," I coughed to hide my embarrassment and smiled as Jess gave Patrick the same star treatment, then shook his hand in a bone breaking grip.

"Dude," Patrick said with a wince as he rubbed his fingers. "We get that you've been working out, but go easy. I can't get through a concert with broken knuckles."

Jess looked between us with a shit-eating grin. "Commitment looks good on you, Verona."

I knew that hardly a day went by without them texting back and forth. "Thanks, man."

"I'm going to kick your ass up there," Jess boasted, his smile broadening when Patrick wrapped his free arm protectively around my waist.

Patrick snorted. "What, you going all Geddy Lee on us?" The Rush bassist was well known for his prowess on the fretboard.

"Naw, Chris Squire is more my style."

"Showing your age, dude." Patrick kissed my cheek and his lips lingered for a long beat. "Why don't you go make nice with the sound guys and get them to play something decent?"

I made a sour face. "Like that Grizzly Bear album with the screwed up title?"

"Veckatimest," Patrick corrected with a smirk.

"_Whatever_." He'd had it stuck on repeat for days, and I was ready to solder a copy of Troutmask Replica to his CD player.

"C'mon, you know you love it," he joked, before following Jess to the stage for their sound check.

"Sure I do." I knew the sound guy, and he agreed to throw on some old school New Order. By the time Who's Joe? came on, things were definitely looking up. I started dancing like the lunatic that I surely was, and several members of C.O.P. followed suit. Soon we were bobbing and weaving like drunks, interrupted by little kids running between our legs, fangs glittering from their jack o' lantern jaws.

The song ended and I laughed when Freddie threw on Captain Beefheart, which I hated almost as much as Patrick's pet band. The vampire wannabes hissed their disappointment, and scurried back to their perches. Only, I saw that one of them was looking at _me_ with hungry eyes, and I wondered if my tetanus shot was up to date.

I folded my arms as a titian-haired vixen dared to approach me. "_What_?" I said shortly.

"Is it true that our Lord Master is going to appear at Comic Con next month?" she dared to ask.

The title was so ludicrous that I laughed in her face. "You folks need to get out more…oh wait, that'll ruin your deathly white pallor."

The vixen's lips twisted. "Is the rumor true or not?"

"What's it worth to you?" I asked with a grin.

She turned out her pockets and shrugged. "Sorry, I'm tapped out."

"Let's say it's true. You plan on crashing the panel?"

I nearly got swept up in her taloned embrace but managed to step aside before she impaled me. "You have made my entire year."

"Glad I could be of service," I said with a smile, thinking how sweet it would be for Patrick to reunite with his favorite fans.

*****

_I work hard just to keep you by my side  
every day and almost every night_

Dracula's Castle, Lyrics by New Order

Patrick  
San Diego

Hometown crowds are the best kind. They lapped up every song we did, and the crowd swelled as the show progressed. Jess was on top of his game, and a real hit with the ladies. It took some of the pressure off me, but not enough to let me relax.

The Cult of Patrick was in my face, and some were carrying Down with Kat signs, which really pissed me off. I changed the playlist and we did an impromptu version of Season of the Witch, which caused some fist shaking in their ranks.

They I whispered to the guys and they all agreed to do another cover. "This next song is dedicated to my girlfriend Kat."

I could see her standing off to one side with a shocked smile that turned to delight when she recognized New Order's Dracula Castle. We'd only played it a few times, but judging from the crowd's rush to the stage, they were eating it up.

The set ended and we moved off to one side to drink some water and clean up a bit. Kat waylaid me and wrapped her arms around me. "Thank you," she breathed. "That album got me through puberty."

Someone cleared their throat and I saw Walter and Rachel waiting to speak with me. Kat ducked her face and stood slightly behind me as they approached. "Great show," Walter said with a cheerful nod. Sheesh, would it kill him to say my name at least once?

Rachel hugged me. "Best show you've ever done, Pat."

"Thanks, but I can't take all the credit." I waved my hand toward the other three guys, who were surrounded by family and friends.

"You think Jess will stay around?" Rachel asked.

"Hope so." That was about it for my daily quota of small talk.

"We'll catch you after the show," Walter said with only a fleeting glance at Kat, who nodded at him without speaking.

I was about to round up the band to head back for our first encore when I was accosted by Bianca's entire family. Sarah hung back slightly, but Lola called me Uncle Patrick and demanded that I sign her shirt, which she announced could never be washed. It took a bit of prodding from Kat to send them back to the audience.

A kiss I aimed at her lips ended up on her jaw as she turned to move off to the sidelines. "Don't forget. Tattered on the second encore."

"You sure about this? They're already out for my blood," Kat said with an eye roll.

"Who cares what they think?"

She shrugged and pushed her way past Jess. "Trouble in paradise?" he joked.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Rebound Guy, but everything's cool."

"Darn," he said with a snap of his fingers. "So let's do it."

We moved out to play three more songs, including Quiet Heart by The Go Betweens, which we'd never done before. "What's with all the covers?" Brad asked after the second song.

"I'm bored tonight."

"OK, but can't we kick up the energy a little?" He suggested one of our old tunes that sounded a lot like The Jam.

"Sure. We haven't done that in years."

The rest of the guys jumped right on it and it ended with a standing ovation for our efforts.

As we took a quick sip of water, I motioned Kat over. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she said tiredly.

Kat moved to the microphone and boos started in the front row. "Nice to see you too," she joked as I slung my Ovation over my head.

To my amazement, Walter emerged from the crowd with his menacing pointed finger and glared at the naysayers up front. The sounds subsided when I said, "We're Katrick, and we have one final song for you."

More catcalls came from the back, and Walter headed in that direction, but he couldn't cover the whole crowd.

"This is a poem I wrote back in college. It's called Tattered, and it's dedicated to my Dad and Rachel."

With that, I was off on the loping strum that I'd cloned from Exile on Main Street, and Mick Taylor's masterful work on that album. Kat's voice rose sweet and high over my low tones, and the harmonies were sublime. We were one part Everly Brothers with a dash of She and Him.

The crowd was mesmerized, as I'd known they would be, but none more than Rachel, who was beaming with pride in the front row. Walter joined her and the look he gave Kat was full of the pride and love that had never gone away. It only needed a reason to come out, and I'd given him the impetus for that to happen.

The song faded into the twilight, and the crowd roared their approval. Kat linked her arm through mine and we bowed. They wouldn't let us leave the stage, so I nudged her back to the mike to sing Falling Slowly, our old favorite from the Once soundtrack. Jess came out to accompany us on piano, and Kat picked up Brad's aging Gibson acoustic.

Our voices twined perfectly as we hit the chorus, and I was amazed by Kat's facility with the guitar. The song swelled with energy before imploding back to complete silence. That lasted only a few seconds before we got our second ovation.

Kat's eyes were brimming with tears and I brushed a few away as they escaped. "You rocked the house."

"You too," she replied before nodding toward stage left, where Walter and Rachel were leading the wave of the James Gang (aka Bianca's family).

Walter had a broad smile that extended to me. "Your mother would have been so proud," he stated. "Brilliant work, both of you."

Kat smiled tentatively. "Thanks, Dad."

He opened his arms and she went to him readily. Their hug started stiff, but it softened into something approaching normal in a manner of seconds. "Keep up the good work," Walter said as he patted her shoulder. "You too, Patrick."

Wow, either Wally had been hitting the crack pipe, or this was real progress. "Thanks, Mr. Stratford."

Walter said, "Please, call me Walter."

Wally was more my speed, but I'd keep that one under wraps. "Kat and I were wondering if you and Rachel would join us for dinner tomorrow night at my place."

Rachel nudged Walter's arm and he agreed on the spot. "We'd be delighted. What time should we plan on getting there?"

"How about 6?" I suggested, ignoring Kat's poke in my side by stepping out of reach.

"Sounds perfect. Can we bring anything?"

"Just yourselves."

They nodded happily and Kat finally got in her three cents. "You could have checked with me first before throwing that out there."

"Would you have agreed?"

"Maybe.

I shook my head and started packing up my gear. "I promised I'd do whatever it takes."

She stared at me. "So you did."

"You can thank me later," I said with a leer, which earned me a light punch to the shoulder.

"Oh, I will. Remember, I know where you stash your crowbar."

"And I'll be sure to move slow so you can catch me," I said, laughing at the way her eyes flashed in memory of her first day in Auto shop.

******

Kat  
San Diego

It was a hazy, crazy morning, and I was still spinning from last night. My father's change of heart was unexpected, and I wondered what had turned the tide.

Was it the music? It had a healing power that defied logic, and I was convinced it had worked its magic on my relationship with Patrick. So maybe it had reached out and touched my Dad too.

All these whirling thoughts woke me at 5 and drew me out to the beach, where I ran for an hour. Then I came back and did a strength training circuit that had me ready to drop by the time 7 rolled around. My rubbery legs barely made it to the shower before I collapsed against the wall and slid down to the seat, letting the warm water pound down on me.

Patrick was practicing in the studio next door, and I threw an appreciative glance at his naked form on my way up the stairs. I had a feeling he'd be joining me soon, perhaps for a romp or two in the sack before breakfast.

Sure enough, I heard him coming up before I'd even reached his bedroom. My towel dropped from my fingers as his warm hands slipped around me and cupped my breasts. His lips found the pulse in my neck and he rather insistently pushed into me from behind. "Missed me?" he asked hoarsely.

"Always," I moaned as he licked the shell of my ear.

My hands raised up against the wall as Patrick hammered at me, and all of a sudden I recognized California Save me in the background. "Groovy soundtrack for banging chicks," he whispered as his hand slid down between my legs.

Patrick twisted his fingers and sent me over the edge. A raw scream tore through my throat and was soon joined by his growl as he spasmed inside me. Our hips continued rotating and he finally stilled my movement with his hands. I whimpered when he slid out of me and he promised, "There's plenty more where this came from."

"Do tell," I invited, and was turned in his arms and answered with a long, sultry kiss that started with nibbles and ended with his tongue sucking at mine. We kissed for a long time, and both of us were getting so hot and bothered that he lifted me in his arms and took me to bed for the rest of the morning.

By noon, I was completely filled with nine inches of Patrick and a delectable spread that Nita had left at our door. He kept me trapped under him, his chest hairs tickling my breasts as he started moving against me. "My father would not approve," I said, thinking he would indeed be scandalized by how often we had sex and how inventive Patrick could be.

"Nope." Patrick captured my mouth and kept it busy while he made love to me so slowly and sweetly that I was sure I had died and gone to heaven.

When we were finally sated, I joked, "You got a light?" I mimed putting a cigarette in my mouth.

"Too cliché," Patrick said with a smirk. He hopped out of bed and fetched the tray from outside our door.

We devoured brunch like ravening wolves. That led to some revelations, such as when I touched his cat tattoo. "When did you get this?"

"Right after we broke up."

He traced the Celtic knot on my upper arm. "How about this?"

"My Christmas present to myself after Dad stopped talking to me."

"Any other deep, dark secrets I should know about?" Patrick teased.

I shook my head. "I'm your typical WYSIWYG girl—unlike you."

He snorted. "Sure you are. Hey, I noticed an oil leak from your car. Want to pretend we're in the racing pit and fix it in 6 seconds flat?"

I laughed and said, "First one dressed is a rotten egg."

******

_Like to get to know you well  
so we can be one  
we can be one together._

_Like to Get to Know you well, Lyrics by Howard Jones_

Patrick  
San Diego

Once long ago, I'd snapped a cell phone photo of hot, sweaty Kat in the Auto shop. With grease streaked on her face and wisps of hair stuck to her skull, she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. Years later, I still coveted that photo and kept it on my phone.

Then and now, she was hot to trot, and I thanked whatever God had sent her to me. Both of us were dressed in grubby clothes, her in cutoffs and a tank top and me in a white undershirt and running shorts. Side by side, we slid under her car and she hissed in annoyance at her leaking transmission. "Damn, it'll have to be resealed."

"No worries," I assured her. "I have everything you need right here."

That statement could be taken any number of ways, and Kat grinned in response. "I bet you do," she said mischievously.

We got straight to work, and as I showed her what I knew about transmissions, Kat said, "Are we going to race that guy that talks like Howard Cosell?"

I got the Better off Dead reference right away. "I have something else in mind," I joked, even remembering the Howard Jones song that had played in that scene where John Cusack worked on his Camaro with the hot French girl from next door. "And I already know you about as well as a person can."

Kat elbowed me as we straightened up. "You sure about that?" she murmured, leaning in close to suck at my ear lobe.

"Mmm, I need more convincing." My smile broadened as she rubbed herself against me.

"How am I doing?" she queried.

"Better." Kat's hands worked their way under my shirt and I lifted my arms obligingly as she removed it.

Her dark eyes drank in the sight of my naked chest. "Sweet." She bent her head and laved me with long sweeps of her tongue that hardened me even further (if that was even possible). Not stopping there, Kat moved her hands lower and under my gym shorts.

I gasped as she caressed the planes of my ass and worked the shorts lower with each swipe of her hands. They finally fell to my feet and I stepped away. "Free at last."

I liked the way her tank top hugged her curves, but it was spoiling my view of her naked splendor. So of course, I insisted on sliding it off her. She wore a very sexy black bra that offered some possibilities, which I quickly acted on. My practiced fingers lowered her straps and had her squirming in very short order. "Please," she begged me, and I gave her what she wanted…once and twice over.

We lay in the back of her car, finally spent from our extracurricular activities. I caressed her hair and tucked it behind her ear. "You worried about Wally's visit?"

"A little."

"Don't sweat it. I'll play him a few ballads and he'll be eating out of my hand."

She swatted at me. "Is that before or after you get him drunk?"

I grinned. "Let's play it by ear. Nita's sister is coming by to cook authentic Mexican for all of us. And we know how your Dad loves fajitas."

"So, let's see if I have this straight. Get him drunk, fatten him up, and turn him out to pasture."

I mussed her hair. "Something like that."

"We better go make ourselves presentable," Kat suggested as she caught sight of us in the rear view mirror.

I smirked at our trail of greasy clothes. "Suitable for burning," I suggested, and we laughed all the way up the stairs and right up to the point where Nita turned a corner and stared at our exposed bodies with a deer in the headlights look.

"Hey, don't mind us," Kat said before offering her brightest smile and streaking off to the safe haven of our bedroom.

*****

Kat  
San Diego

We both helped Nita and Carla prep for tonight's feast. Nita pretended nothing had happened and cheerfully babbled away in Spanish, figuring neither of us could follow her rather funny stories about the two of us. At our end of the counter, I translated for Patrick with my own little snarky comments interjected for his amusement.

Chicken, pork, and shrimp were chopped and ready for the grill, and all the fixings quickly came together. My mouth was watering by the time we covered everything and put it in the fridge while awaiting our guests.

Patrick and I grabbed a bottle of wine and made our way to our private terrace, where he regaled me with his own silly road stories. Our laughter rang out into the perfect early summer afternoon, and by the time Dad and Rachel arrived, I was rather looped on an excellent vintage of North Coast wine.

They arrived on the dot of 6, and my father smiled at the sight of me, looking truly happy to see me. He hugged me without further greeting and said, "This is quite the place."

Dad actually sounded impressed, and I gave Patrick the thumb's up behind my father's back. "Dad, would you like a tour?"

"Thought you'd never ask," he joked. "Rachel, can you stand to be without me for a few minutes?"

Rachel laughed. "I'll pine every second you're gone."

I'd never seen my Dad this carefree, and he commented on many features of the house as we traversed through the living room, dining area, and kitchen to the bedroom wing. I showed him my office in the converted lavender bedroom, and he uttered a low whistle when we hit the library. It was richly decorated with Spanish style furniture and floor to ceiling shelves that held all sorts of rare editions of classic novels and first runs on comic books. "I never realized Patrick was so well read."

Neither had I, until he revealed his secret kingdom to me a few nights ago. "Patrick's full of surprises," I said with pride.

My Dad didn't miss the affectionate tone in my voice and he smiled to himself. "He must be, if he caught your attention."

Now _that_ was quite the acknowledgment on my Dad's part. "He's rather extraordinary," I stated baldly, and once again was caught by my father's thoughtful stare.

Dad followed me out to the veranda and we leaned side by side and looked at the ocean view. "You must spend a lot of time out here." His voice held a longing that caught me off guard, and it made me wonder how he spent his time with Rachel.

"We do. Come see the garden. You'll love it."

He more than loved it. "This is amazing. Do you two have someone to tend this for you?"

"I take care of the flowers, and Patrick tends to the vegetables."

I brought him through the greenhouse and we sat down at one of the Victorian styled ironwork tables. "Sometimes I come out here to write," I admitted, loving the watery green light and light fragrance of nearby frangipani.

My father looked up and around with wonder. "I had no idea Patrick was so well established."

"He hides it well," I cracked, thinking of the grimy clothes we had just tossed into the dumpster.

Dad smiled. "I have to admit, I've never seen you so happy."

I answered his smile with one of my own. "Thanks. It's all been rather unexpected, but I only feel at home when I'm at his side."

"And I'd say he feels the same, but what are his long term intentions?"

My fingers twisted at my promise ring and I barely managed to keep my teeth from gnawing at my lower lip. "We try to take it one day at a time, Dad."

"Hmmph, we'll see about that," he replied with a tight smile.

*******

Patrick  
San Diego

Wally had a determined glint in his eye when they returned from the tour. "You've done well for yourself, son," he said, and I wonder if I should be encouraged by getting thrown into the son category.

"Thank you. Please help yourself to some refreshments while we throw the meat and vegetables on the grill."

"You cook?" Wally asked with raised brows.

"I'm pretty fair at boiling water, and I've been known to simmer Ramen noodles to perfection," I quipped.

Walter took the joke as it was intended and I saw his eyes brighten at the sight of some really old Macallan. "Wow, I've never seen anything of this vintage."

Neither had I, until a lucky encounter in a local store had netted me this particular year. "Should I crack it open now?"

"Tempting, but let's wait until after dinner."

"Sure." Good idea, considering he'd more amenable with a full stomach. With a grin, I helped Nita and Carla bring platters from the kitchen and realized this was yet another thing Kat had in common with Wally.

The food was fabulous, and Kat actually started to relax by the time I dished out her third fajita. It took quite a lot more than that before Walter came into his own, and I discovered that sarcasm ran rampant in the Stratford clan. Some of his maternity ward stories had us in stitches, and I was wiping tears from my eyes by the time we cleared the plates for dessert.

"Strawberry short cake," I announced, and smiled at seeing Rachel's eyes light up.

Dessert went the way of the other food and not a crumb was left when we were done with it. "Fabulous," Walter said with a nod. "And now, if you ladies don't mind, Patrick and I have some catching up to do."

I followed him into the kitchen, where he grabbed the Macallan off the counter and headed for the library. Cigars were waiting in their humidor and I opened it and extended the box to Wally. "Cohiba?" I asked lightly.

Sure enough, Walter went for the smokes and we both lit up and sat back in the matching wing chairs that Kat and I usually hung out in at night. "You have good taste," Walter commented, which meant I had surprised him yet again.

I knew where this was headed, so I jumped feet first into the flames. "Why not? I can afford it."

He nodded approvingly. "That's good, because Kat is used to the finer things in life."

"Of course she is." That shopping trip in LA had wiped out half my rainy day fund, but the delight on her face as we'd raided half the shops on Rodeo Drive had been worth every penny.

Walter took a puff on his cigar and blew some rings. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

I watched smoke drift to the ceiling before I said, "Sure."

"You know what I think of you."

A laugh worked its way past my lips, which did nothing to appease Wally. "Yeah, I kind of overheard, and so did half the city."

From the way his cheeks darkened, Wally didn't appreciate my standup routine. "I'm her father. I want what's best for her."

I straightened slightly and placed my cigar in a nearby ash tray. "Best for her, or best for you?" I said casually.

"Excuse me?" Walter retorted at my flippant tone.

"You obviously have a template for the perfect husband. Well educated, with a high paying job that will ensure your daughter and any children are set for life. Does that about cover it?"

His mouth opened and closed and I saw him struggling with his emotions. "Don't you take that tone with me."

I wasn't about to apologize. "Am I right?"

Walter knotted his fingers together. "_Yes_."

"Then I've got it covered."

He chortled. "Is that so?"

"Look, I may not have the Ivy League education, but I've done well for myself."

"That you have," Walter said reluctantly.

"And I love your daughter."

"Do you?"

"Yes," I said emphatically.

"And how long will it last this time? What happens when some bimbo shakes her hips at you?"

I got to my feet and started pacing. "I've been waiting half my life for Kat to return, and now that she's back, I'll never let her go."

"Is that a fact?"

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep her in my life."

Walter considered my words, and we both knew what I was referring to. "She might turn you down."

"Maybe, but I'll keep asking until she says yes."

His shoulders finally relaxed and I knew I'd passed the first hurdle. "Good luck with that."

******


	12. Men in Black

San Diego-Men in Black

Kat  
San Diego

The men withdrew to the library, leaving us to natter on about nothing. "I almost expect Alistair Cooke to pop up," I said sardonically.

"This talk was long past overdue," Rachel explained with a polite smile.

"Oh, really? What gives them the right to discuss me like I'm a piece of meat?" I snapped, knowing _exactly_ why the men had retreated to the lion's den.

"Walter has his doubts, and Patrick needs to show him there are no worries," Rachel pointed out.

I clenched my fingers around a frying pan and put on my best mad scientist face. "Wanna make a bet?"

She laughed nervously. "Perhaps we should retreat to the parlor for tea and dainties."

My fingers pretended to hold out my skirts and curtsy. "The help's gone home, and I'm fresh out of dainties. Would you settle for some coffee?"

"Sounds perfect." Rachel followed me and the coffee pot out to the veranda.

I sipped at my coffee and stared at the setting sun. "You and my Dad are great together."

Rachel's cheeks flushed with pleasure. "He makes me happy."

"I noticed he put away his wedding ring." My knowing glance made her blush even more.

"Yes, about two months ago. It was entirely his decision."

It was about freaking time. "It was _way_ overdue."

She looked at me thoughtfully. "So you're really OK with us together?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I know you miss your Mom, and then there's our rather close family connection…" Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

I laughed. "You two were knocking boots way before Patrick and I reconnected, so if anything, we're the ones overcrowding the love shack."

Her blush returned. "It's not what you think."

"Of course it is," I replied with a grin. "And if you're anything like Patrick, then my Dad has his hands full."

"About that…the living together thing was my idea, so please don't take him apart over it."

"Why not?" Someone needed to knock some sense into him.

"Because," a voice interrupted. "I've asked Rachel to marry me."

I looked over my shoulder at Dad's happy face and rather enjoyed the shock emanating from Patrick. "And?"

Rachel stood up to join him and that's when I noticed the rock on her left hand. "I said yes."

"Wow," I said, jumping to my feet. "I'm so happy for you both."

Dad seemed rather surprised by my exuberance, but he hugged me back without hesitation. "Thank you, Kat. The nuptials are in January."

I looked between them like they were crazy. "Why?"

"Because that's the only time we could book the Hotel del Coronado," Rachel replied. "And it gets even better. We've decided to hold the wedding on Inauguration Day."

Patrick stayed in the background with folded arms and his perpetual smirk, clearly enjoying the show now that he'd gotten past his shock.

I rolled my eyes at him as Dad and Rachel made goo goo eyes at each other. "What if your candidate loses?"

"Who cares? It's a Monday, and we got a great price," Dad said smugly.

"Cool, does Bianca know?"

He shook his head. "We wanted you to hear it from us first."

Patrick rejoined me and slung his arm over my shoulder. "Anything we can do to help with the planning?" Without saying the words of congratulation, I sensed he was totally on board with this.

Rachel said, "Well, there is _one_ thing you can do for us."

"What's that?" Patrick asked.

"Stand up with us. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have as my attendant," Rachel gushed.

Patrick and I exchanged confused glances. "Don't you have that backward?" I asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Not at all. I think you'd make a great best man." Dad was totally deadpan as he stared me down.

This was so messed up that it almost made sense. "OK, on one condition. I get to pick the monkey suit."

"Kat, there's no need, I've already made the arrangements." Rachel pulled a crumpled paper from her pocket and flashed a hideous bridesmaid dress at me.

With a grin, I pointed at Patrick and declared, "That's totally your color, and those ruffles will totally complement your curls."

He nudged me in the side and murmured, "You're so going down for that."

"Can't wait," I said as I elbowed him back. "Patrick and I would be honored to attend you, in clothes of our choosing."

Dad shot me one of his looks before finally nodding. "Very well, but if you show up in alien spacesuits, I'll have you deported."

As they moved off, I had a sudden epiphany and whispered three words to Patrick.

His answering smile blinded me for a second. "Genius."

******

Patrick  
San Diego

The moment the door closed behind them, she let me have it.

"How dare you discuss our future without me?" Kat cocked her head and her dark eyes snapped with irritation.

I took a deep breath. "Look, your Dad was expecting _something_, so I had to throw him a bone."

"Do I look like a femur?" Her lips formed the word idiot and she sighed.

I longed to soothe the savage, cranky beast that told me she was exhausted, but she needed more than that from me. "More like a well-shaped humerus," I commented dryly, and was rewarded with a quiver of her lips.

"You're not getting off that easy." Kat imitated her father's classic pointing finger, and I seized the moment and kissed her hand.

"Aw, is that any way to talk to Prince Charles?" I put my hand to my chest and displayed my most charming smirk.

She flipped me the bird with a smirk of her own. "No talking required, Chuck. So, Wally and Rachel forever."

"Think they'll nullify each other?"

"Naw, Dad doesn't stand a chance against Rachel. She's already figured out that he's a pussycat."

"With fangs." That earned me a glare, and I added, "Hey, maybe we can sic C.O.P on him."

Her eyes dropped from mine and she laughed uneasily. "About that…I sort of tipped them off about Comic-Con."

I groaned. "Mind telling me why?"

"Because they're picketing me," she complained. "I'm sick of the Yoko comparisons, and being vilified at every turn."

"And you expect that to change?"

She shrugged. "Look, at least it will be a draw, and your game sales should be off the charts."

"Good point."

I bumped fists with her and Kat kissed my cheek. "Don't worry, Chuck, I'll protect you from your evil minions."

My arm caught her around the waist and I whispered, "Only if you carry that sexy stun gun."

******

Kat  
San Diego

I located amazing black suits and white shirts at a vintage clothing store, and some cheap Raybans at a downtown kiosk. For shoes, I dragged Patrick away from his songwriting and we both got fitted with shiny black shoes.

"What's the hurry?" Patrick asked as we scurried to the last table at a sidewalk café. "The wedding's not until January."

"Who cares about that? These are for Comic-Con." I ordered an ice tea and Patrick followed suit.

He snorted. "No way I'm wearing _that_ to a convention."

"Why, you afraid I might upstage you?" I countered mischievously.

"As if," Patrick replied.

I took one of the suits out of the bag and modified a quote from one of my favorite films. "You know the difference between you and me? I'll make this look good."

His eyes crinkled and I knew he got the reference. "No doubt about that, sweet cheeks."

I took out my Taser. "You want some of this, Chuck?"

"Sure, what else have you got for me?"

My can of pepper spray rolled into my hand. "Just say the word."

Patrick chuckled. "This is just like old times."

"Keep laughing, Hannibal. I got your number."

******

Patrick  
San Diego

Comic-Con loomed on the horizon, and I got no closer to keeping my promise to Wally.

Kat continued to badger me (Detective Columbo reincarnated) about my clandestine meeting with her father, and I kept putting her off with platitudes.

"Are you trying to drive me insane?" she complained.

"Why bother? You're already certifiable."

That earned me another smack to the shoulder. "Don't make me hurt you!"

"Boyfriend abuse," I joked.

"Can we please focus? I have less than a week to get these photos into the publisher." Kat was referring to the coffee table book that had lured her onto the tour in the first place.

We were sitting side by side in my office and her gallery was up on the big screen. She was way too close and smelled intoxicating. Kat walked me through her top choices, and I agreed to most of them. "Not that one," I pointed to the shot of me and Selina arguing.

"Sorry, that one stays," Kat replied in a tone that brooked no argument.

I made a face. "Why am I here if you've already decided?"

"Because that shot is part of the story, and taking it out destroys the sequence."

In rapid succession, she displayed her picture story and I quickly saw her point. "OK, that makes sense. Anything else?"

She picked 5 shots out of the lineup. "These are for Pitchfork."

"Good choices all around. See? I'm easy."

"And I'm _un_easy," Kat quipped. "Are the guys joining us at the con?"

"Maybe."

"What about your disguise?"

I shook my curly mane and decided I'd visit someone in town to tame it back to a manageable hedge. "Forget it."

"Not even at the cocktail hour?"

That wasn't asking too much, so I finally caved. "OK, but if you bug me again, then I'm burning the damn thing."

"Only if you can find it, Sherlock."

*******

Kat  
San Diego

12 of my poems became full blown songs over the two weeks leading to Comic-Con. Patrick and I sometimes worked through the night, and by the weekend before the con, we had laid down a baker's dozen for our Katrick album.

It would be self-released on Patrick's label and his distribution channels were already gearing up to release it in August. I'd drawn some simple sketches that he seemed to like, and we settled on a charcoal sketch of Blacks Beach.

"This is perfect," he said as we sent off the master to the production house for printing.

We were in town for another reason he wouldn't reveal to me. "What are you up to?"

"No questions."

I gritted my teeth in frustration and finished my shrimp salad without another word. "Keep it up, and I'll make you watch Almost Famous another dozen times."

"OK," Patrick said agreeably. "But only if I can rewind the scene where Kate Hudson takes off her clothes."

"That is borderline harassment," I said, knowing he'd remember our matching T-shirt exchange, and his mind-melting strip tease.

Patrick recognized his cue. "Only borderline? Guess I'm not trying hard enough."

"Try a little harder, and I'll alert the media," I said mockingly.

He snatched the only pen from my fingers and dangled it out of reach. "What would Miss Manners say about this?"

"Who cares? She kicked the bucket."

"And someone actually _noticed_?"

I tried not to laugh. "You live for this, don't you?"

Patrick's smirk morphed into a real smile and my throat went dry. "The trips down memory lane, or our usual witty banter?"

"All of the above."

His only answer was a smirk, which faded when I grabbed the check from the waiter's hand. "My turn," I intoned, throwing down some cash and getting to my feet before Patrick could attempt his gentleman come lately routine. With a frown, he followed me to the door and sighed when I insisted on holding it for him.

"What bug crawled up your ass?" Patrick muttered as we walked toward his Lexus.

"A _dead_ ladybug."

"Huh, and here I thought it was a hissing cockroach."

I kicked at his foot with mine. "Quit pretending to be someone you're not."

"Huh?" Patrick leaned against his SUV and seemed genuinely confused.

"I can pay my own way, and I'm perfectly capable of opening and closing doors."

"Noted. Anything else?"

"You didn't answer my question."

He took my hand and squeezed it. "Ah, yes, our witty banter. I _revel_ in it."

"Now you're being sarcastic."

Patrick laughed. "No, _really_?" When I didn't laugh back, he put his fingers under my chin. "I'm Prince Charles, the patron saint of foot in mouth disease."

I leaned against the car. "We never talk."

"Sure we do."

"You know what I mean. Every time we try to discuss anything, we end up in bed."

His eyes smoldered at me. "Are you complaining?"

"Don't turn this back on me."

Patrick twirled my hair around his finger. "Actions speak louder than words."

"Meaning what?"

He sighed and noticed a few people staring at us. "We can discuss this later."

The ride to our destination was a bit strained. "You know I'm right."

"Absolutely," Patrick said easily. "Follow me."

We'd arrived at a nondescript home near the Scripps Institute. "You trading down?"

"Not today." He knocked at the door and a tanned woman with dark blonde hair came out.

"Hey, Patrick, how's it shaking?" They high fived each other and she looked around him at me. "You must be Kat."

"Last time I checked. Who are you?"

The woman laughed and held out her hand. "I'm Jess's cousin Lee. Didn't Patrick tell you?"

My laugh sputtered out of me. "Nope."

"That's our Patrick," Lee said with a laugh. She walked over to the garage and pulled up the door.

My eyes adjusted to the dark interior and a moment later, I spotted a gorgeous blue Honda motorcycle. "Why are we here?"

"You still don't get it." Patrick pulled me toward the bike. "It's yours if you want it."

My fingers ran over the shiny chrome and leather seat. "2020 Interstate if I'm not mistaken."

Lee nodded. "The girl knows her bikes."

"Why are you selling it?"

"Because I'm pregnant, and I need the money."

God, I hoped it wasn't catching. "Explain." I eyeballed Patrick and folded my arms.

He ran his fingers down my arm. "You're always borrowing mine, so I figured you should have your own."

I'd gotten my motorcycle license a few years ago, and I liked borrowing his BMW to run errands in town. 'What's the occasion?"

Patrick leaned over and whispered, "Call it an early engagement present."

_WTF_? My eyes opened wide and I stumbled slightly as his comment registered. I gazed between my ring and his earnest face and was completely speechless. When I finally found words, I leaned in and said, "You could have asked me first."

*******

Patrick  
San Diego

I handed Lee a check on the sly and promised to pick the bike up on a different day. By that time, Kat was halfway down the street and apparently intent on walking home. I pulled up alongside her and pointed to her ballet flats. "You want a mess of blisters?"

Kat shook her head and got in. "So _that's_ what your big secret was."

We stopped at a light and I peered over my sunglasses at her. "You know you love the bike."

She sputtered, "Are you insane? You can't pull this crap on me and expect me to be OK with it."

She was like the nasty adult who popped all the balloons at a kid's party. "I gave you a ring. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Of _course_ it does! But damnit, we haven't even had the discussion about our living arrangements. How the hell do you expect me to react when you bring up an engagement that doesn't exist?"

Wow, this was going downhill faster than a Porsche on steroids. "I thought you'd be happy."

"_Hardly._ Why don't we start with my guest status at your house? Am I moving in permanently, or am I just your fuck buddy for the summer?"

I was deeply stung by her words. "Haven't I proven myself to you and your father? How much more ass kissing do I have to do before I get the green light?"

"Red light," Kat screamed, and I braked so hard that her head almost hit the dashboard. My hand darted out to catch her shoulder and I let go when she glared at me.

My throat was tight with emotion as I watched the light turn green. "Are you OK?"

She laid her head in her hands "Not even close."

"How can I make it better?"

"Talk to me straight. No jokes, and no trying to charm your way out of it."

That was the way I had always operated. "I'll try."

We got back to the house and she stared at me. "Do more than try, or this will never work."

Kat disappeared into the house and a short time later, she headed out the door in running gear. "I'll be back by dark."

I watched her until I couldn't see her anymore, and felt all my hopes and dreams dissipate, sinking like the stone I threw into the surf.

******

Kat  
San Diego

Bryan Ferry's drug is love; mine is running. It's my sweat soaked nirvana, a place that only I inhabit.

No one could touch me as I flew along the busy beach, ignoring the beachcombers and sunburned kids with their pails. I was miles away from Patrick's private domain, and I ignored the sun sinking into the drink.

It was full dark when I came back to town, my demons fully exorcised from my mind. I pulled out my phone and saw half a dozen messages from Patrick. I sent him a single text that said, "I'm OK. Stop texting me."

The phone stayed silent and I put it back in my pocket. I was thirsty, hot, and bone tired, and I suddenly realized that I craved the creature comforts of my new home. "Damn," I swore, shaking my fist at the sky.

I loved this place: its people, the sun, the surf, and the impossibly beautiful cliffs of La Jolla. I adored the cool sea caves, and the sea lions barking their lungs out at the Children's Pool. And the gorgeous prince with the tarnished crown? I loved him most of all, with his amazing talent and breathtaking retreat that topped the hills of this rich artist's colony.

And there was no doubting he loved me more, even as he tripped over his good intentions and proposed to me on a handshake from my Dad.

I wanted nothing more than to head home and say fuck it, let's get married. Be my husband and I'll be the best damned wife a man could want.

If only it were that simple.

But we weren't kids anymore, and I had a life on the East Coast that I also loved.

How did I reconcile that with this carefree California existence?

Nat Geo was calling me every day, but the time might come when they'd stop calling, and I'd be nowhere.

Rolling Stone was all hot and bothered over the possibility of a cover shoot with the Monkeys, and could I make it a reality?

I've always believed in striking while the iron was hot, and the heat was coming at me from all directions.

It seemed like hours before I got to the gate, which was locked for the night. It would be so easy to call him and he'd buzz me in, but I decided to take the long way around.

******

Patrick  
San Diego

I picked up my guitar and music flowed through me to my hands. The melody was bittersweet and strongly reminiscent of NMA's Marry the Sea. As the surf crashed on the rocks below, I jotted down words that nearly burned into the page as my pencil dug down.

Three pencils later, I had a song. Then another one tugged at me, and I started winding my way through that one too.

On the third song, Kat came up the steps and sat quietly on the rock wall. She listened actively, and at one point, her hand dropped to my shoulder and she left it there, anchoring me even as she kept her distance.

I put the guitar down and was awed by her silvery beauty, backlit by the rising moon. "Let's talk."

"I didn't mean everything I said." Her words held no apology.

"OK."

"_What_ are we, Patrick?"

I wound my fingers through hers. "_Lovers_," I said passionately.

Kat's breath caught at that admission, but her gaze was unrelenting. "Friends?"

My eyes closed for a moment before I said, "You're _everything_ to me."

"Forever?"

Insecurity from such a beautiful, accomplished woman still caught me up short. "How can you doubt it?"

She moved closer and sat on the edge of the table, dark eyes taking me in as I mused over our fate. "There's so much I don't know."

Kat had the knowledge, but her doubts pushed it out of reach. "How can I help?"

It was a strange conversation, but it seemed to work for both of us. "Tell me where we'll live."

"Here. Boston. Wherever you want." I loved it here, but I would ditch it in a heartbeat and follow her anywhere.

Her breath shuddered with emotion. "And my work?"

"Let me help you. Teach me about your art." There was so much I could learn from her, and if I was pulled to the far reaches of the globe, I'd be with her at the end of the day.

"And will you teach me as well?" Her hand touched my Ovation and I caught the faint shimmer of a smile cross her lips.

"Always." A ghost of my own smirk almost came out of hiding, but I put it away for safekeeping.

Kat put her hands in my hair and touched her cheek to mine. "No more gentlemen's agreements."

"OK."

"Are you always this easy?"

"One of us has to be." She pulled my hair and I sat up straighter as I rubbed my head.

"What about prenups?"

Oh, we were stepping into deep water with this one. "They suck, but if you want to protect your own assets, I won't be offended."

Kat's mouth opened and closed and it was clear she wasn't expecting my left field answer. "What about your holdings?"

I shrugged. "It's only money."

"Easy to say when you're loaded."

"Look, my lawyers will advise me to draw up a prenup, but I won't force you to sign it."

"I don't want your money," Kat replied.

"Then it must be the incredibly hot sex."

"About that…" Kat was veering back to unchartered territory.

I kissed her cheek. "How can I be of assistance?"

She moved into my lap and I tasted the salt of her tears. "We aren't using protection."

"I figured you were taking care of it." The tiny part of my brain that actually pondered such thoughts had pushed it way into the background. "You're not…?"

"No, but what if I was?"

I leaned over and kissed her slightly exposed belly. "It would be part of us."

Kat took my breath away with her sudden hug. "There was this doctor in college who said I'd never conceive."

"Let's prove him wrong," I said as my hands started lifting up her shirt.

"We're doing it again," Kat murmured as the shirt left her body.

"So we are." I dipped my head and licked the newly exposed valley between her breasts. "But we talked first."

Kat moaned when my fingers made short work of her sports bra. "I prefer talking with my body."

"So do I." I pulled her onto me and the air was soon filled with our savage and wordless passion. It stretched well into the night and moved from the porch to the sand and ended on the table in our greenhouse.

We brushed dirt from our bodies and laughed all the way to the shower, where we once again succumbed to the love drug. Sleep finally claimed us at 3 in the morning, but by 7, Kat was all over me.

She dominated me to the point where I was gasping for mercy, and that only ended when I gave her what she wanted. I barely came down when she surrounded me once again and murmured, "So, think you can keep up with me?"

"If I don't die first."

******

Kat  
San Diego

This wasn't my first visit to the craziness of Comic-Con. I'd stopped by a few times during college, mostly to ogle some of my favorite comic book artists and stalk the cute guy from The Middleman who seemed to show up every year.

No, Patrick was the con virgin, if ever such a word could be applied to someone like him. He looked almost fearful as we plunged into the crowd, but there were so many celebs that he melted into the background.

I know this would change rapidly, for once word got out that he was in the building, lady vamps of every shape, size, and color would descend on him with fangs bared. As for me, I was dressed to the nines in my MIB gear, complete with expensive (prescription) sunglasses and a silk dress shirt. My shoes were spit shined, and my weapon of choice was standard issue from the MIB toy collection.

"Remind me why I agreed to this?" Patrick muttered as we pushed past a particularly noxious group of fen, whose definition of hygiene didn't include soap or deodorant.

"Breathe through your mouth," I advised.

"Airborne pathogens?" he countered.

I spotted a few members of C.O.P. and pointed. "Take a few tips from your undead friends. No breathing required."

We stopped at the sight of hundreds of caped women, and they stared back at us. "OMFG," one of them shouted, and an avalanche of black and red boiled toward us.

"Run," I yelled, and we dove straight through the stinky, overstuffed fans and rolled under a table.

As booted feet and spiked heels passed by at top speed, I crawled under a vendor's table and peeked out, only to find my sight assaulted by a skanky 'ho with a leather skirt and no underwear. She looked way too much like Selina, and I managed to escape her notice as I shoved Patrick under the next table. "This sucks."

"Only one more, Captain Intensity, and we're home free."

"What did you call me?" His voice was mixed with laughter and frustration.

"Nothing." I had some surprises of my own, and I wasn't about to take that particular trip down memory lane with him.

"Finally," he said as we pushed through to an area that was completely devoid of vamps.

We straightened up, only to find ourselves completely surrounded by a sea of walkers, canes, and white hair. The cloying smell of talcum powder and cheap cologne competed with the B.O. crowd for the smell most guaranteed to knock you unconscious, but that wasn't the worst part of it.

No, even worse than all that was the sight of that old lady from the night of the fire. Her eyes were sharp with recognition and I knew she remembered us---vividly. "Christ, can this get any worse?" I muttered to Patrick.

"Umm, that would be a yes." Each of the old ladies had a fiery red T-shirt with Patrick's face emblazoned on it.

"This is an honor," she crowed, grabbing his hand and pumping it at least a dozen times.

"Do I know you?" Patrick asked with an innocence that was fooling no one, especially the old lady.

"Don't patronize me, sonny. I remember both of you from the night of the fire, and I'm mighty glad to see that this young lady followed my advice."

I flashed my best fake smile. "What was your name again?"

"Verna, and these fine ladies came from all over the state to see your boyfriend."

"Really? But he's not even on the schedule," I trilled, ignoring Patrick's elbow digging into my side.

"It's all over the Internet, and since I'm the chat room mistress for his local fan club, I hear all the dirt."

"Isn't that the sweetest thing you've ever heard, Patrick?" I cooed, enjoying his strained expression way more than a good girlfriend should.

"Sure is." He leaned in and whispered, "I'm going to roast you over an open fire."

"Sounds appetizing," I retorted. "So how can Patrick help his fans today?"

A hundred women held up Sharpies and CDs. "Autographs," they screamed in unison, and Patrick resigned himself to an hour or two immersed in a sea of blue hairs and bad dye jobs.

*****

Patrick  
San Diego

Jess joined us shortly after the old ladies ganged up on me. He and Kat were laughing over her costume, and I smiled as they started quoting some gems from Men in Black. Jess was a particular fan of the movie, so he pulled out one of my favorite lines.

"We are the best kept secret in the galaxy. We monitor, license, and police all alien activity on the Earth. We're your first, last, and only line of defense. We live in secret, we exist in shadow."

Kat reminded him, "And we dress in black."

"If you two are done fooling around, maybe you can get these lines moving."

"Sorry, it's my day off," she joked.

I rolled my eyes. "You know that security detail you so desperately wanted?"

"Yeah."

"You're fired."

She did something with her fingers that made my hair stand on end. "Where the hell did you pick that up?"

"Here and there."

Verna made it to the end of the line and beamed at us both. "You make such a cute couple."

"Aww, that's so sweet," Kat drawled. "You told me to seize the moment, and by God, I did just that. Did you know this evil boy lured me up to the roof?"

I wanted to sink straight into the floor. "Do you mind? I'm trying to sign."

Kat took Verna's arm and they moved to one side, but still well within earshot. "Tell me all about it," Verna said as she rubbed her hands together gleefully.

"It was our first kiss," Kat said in a stage whisper.

"I knew it. When you were sitting on the stairs, your lips were rather swollen. He must have kissed you good."

"And more than once," Kat said in a hushed tone, as if the crowd of buzzing hearing aids could pick up her chatter. In another universe far removed from my overly devoted fans, I might find this funny, but I was ready to string them both up.

"With tongue?" Verna shouted, and this time the throng of gray hairs giggled like school girls. And to make matters worse, C.O.P chose that moment to descend on us.

Kat linked Verna's arm with hers, and the last thing I heard was, "He puts Gene Simmons to shame."

*****  
Kat  
San Diego

I was enjoying this immensely, and rather liked Verna and her group of crones. They seemed to like me as well, which was the whole point. My anti-Yoko campaign was aimed straight at his most ardent fans, who had declared war on me. The Golden Agers were squarely in the Katrick camp, but the vamps were out for blood—preferably mine.

But right now, they were more interested in shoving their way to the front of the line, and I wouldn't stand for it. As it was, this was an unauthorized gathering, and it wouldn't take long before someone noticed.

Sure enough, one of the security goons from Central Casting came lumbering along the instant I conjured him up in my mind. His doughy torso was encased in a standard navy blue blazer, white shirt (turned gray from too many wash cycles), and tan slacks that rode up his legs. He spotted the growing crowd and I clearly heard him call for backup in a fearful voice. The guy had the pasty white complexion of a bottom feeder who lived on Coke and Krispy Kreme donuts, but I had nothing against him.

I walked over and pointed at my watch. "My friend needs to get to a panel. Any chance you could cut him loose from this crowd?"

He looked over his shoulder and shrugged. "I'm only one guy."

"Ah, but you have me," I said sharply.

"Are you Jay or Kay?" he asked as he eyed my costume.

"Definitely Kay, and I'm packing heat." I showed him my official merchandise and he whistled.

"You pick that up on eBay?"

"Naw, found it at a rummage sale." Which was the whole truth.

"So how can you help, Kay?"

I showed him my dog whistle. "Think it will work on this pack?"

"Only one way to find out."

I blew on it as hard as I could and was stunned to see the vamps covering their ears. A second blast sent them reeling, and provided enough of a diversion to grab Patrick and hand him into the waiting hands of his publicist and Jess. They whisked him through the onlookers and I followed in their wake, only turning back once to see the vamps battling it out with outraged senior citizens. My last vision was of an upraised cane about to descend on someone's unfortunate head.

******

Patrick  
San Diego

My panel with the gaming guy started at 1, and they'd roped me into a charity auction with some of the actors from Star Trek 20. They looked like castoffs from Madame Tussaud's, and I had nothing in common with any of them. A blow up doll of William Shatner would have made a better stand-in than these people with their capped teeth and implanted hair.

Kat came to my rescue at the 11th hour with several large cartons. "What the hell?" I muttered as she and Jess started tossing red T-shirts on the table.

"Just go with it," she said through gritted teeth.

She moved over to the emcee and commandeered the mike. "Fellow fen, I have some rare treats for you. Come a little closer and behold these one of a kind Captain Intensity tee shirts."

Girls and a few stray guys rushed forward and practically wet their pants at a silkscreened version of me brooding with a superhero cape and a guitar. I held one up and had to admit the likeness was excellent. "Is this your work?"

"Nope. Don't you recognize our fellow vandal out there?" She pointed to the front row and I saw Mandela and Holly waving at us.

"God, I suppose half of Padua is here too?"

"Not quite." Kat looked to the left and I saw Keith lounging against the wall with his brother. He grinned at me and my attention wandered over to a red-faced guy with a chrome dome who looked unimpressed.

"What the hell is Wally doing here?"

"Keeping an eye on things."

That's the last thing I needed right now. I looked once more at my silk-screened image and managed to suppress a smirk when the bidding started at 50 dollars. It climbed to 100 and ended at 150 for the first shirt. The remaining shirts fetched an average of 100 dollars a pop. "Are they crazy?"

Kat smiled. "Probably."

She had saved a bunch of shirts for us to divide up among our family and friends, and as Kat hugged Mandela and Holly, I suddenly remembered that first day on the quad when Kat had first encountered Mandela. I'd been carving away at some wood and that's when I first heard her call me Captain Intensity. In fact, the expression on that T-shirt exactly matched my mood on most days at Padua.

I gave Mandela a hug. "I have you to thank for this?"

"It was all her doing. We came up with a sketch in New York, and the rest kind of fell into place."

Brad and Luis showed up and got a huge kick out of the T-shirts. Brad came over and commented, "That girl really has you by the short hairs, Verona."

"Yeah, it's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it," I joked.

Brad looked over at Kat and there was a hint of leer in his eyes. "She might go down like sandpaper, but damn, she's one sexy broad."

In Brad's limited world, that passed for a high compliment. "Don't I know it."

Luis looked at my face and laughed. "You look like shit, 'bro. That girl keeping you up at night?"

"Oh, yeah." I wasn't a kiss and tell sort of guy, so they left it at that—for now.

"Better watch out for that pal of yours," Luis warned.

I looked over at Jess leaning over Kat, and I couldn't possibly miss the look in his eyes. He was a player, and once long ago, he'd threatened to take Kat away from me. But he was also my friend, and when he caught me watching, he suddenly realized what he was doing and threw me a sheepish smile. With an apologetic look, he backed away from Kat and found another victim in the form of a shapely member of C.O.P. who was flaunting her wares under a see through blouse.

Kat worked her way around to me and rubbed her face against mine. "Any chance I can get you alone?"

I kissed the corner of her mouth and desperately wanted to find a quiet corner where I could show her exactly what I was feeling. Frustration at the sea of fans had turned to gratitude when I saw what she was doing, slowly winning points with even the staunchest anti-Kat contingents. By the end of the auction, C.O.P was high fiving her right and left and Verna's army of elders was singing her praises for anyone to hear.

I pulled her backstage and found an unoccupied handicapped bathroom with a lock that worked. "Will this do?"

"Yeah, right up to the point where someone threatens to run us over with their wheelchair."

"I'll risk it." The door locked behind us and we went to town.

******

Kat  
San Diego

Verna cornered me outside the ballroom where Patrick was doing the gaming panel. "You missed a button," she pointed out with barely concealed amusement.

"Oh, thanks." My fingers fumbled at my shirt and finally set it to rights. Feeling a flush of heat in my cheeks, I tried to step away but she was still intent on continuing our association.

"I hear they call you the Kat Lady." Verna wagged her finger at me. "Didn't I say what would happen to you?"

"You did, but as you can see, none of that is true."

She laughed. "How many cats are living with you?"

I thought back to the strays in Boston. "Umm, five?"

"Only five? You must be one of those reformed cat ladies."

My smile was bittersweet, for I really missed those furry little fellows in my cozy Boston townhouse. "I foster them for one of the no kill shelters in Boston."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" Verna joked.

"So, what's your deal?" I asked, spotting the letters H.O.L. on her wristband and hoping to change the subject.

"You mean this?" Verna looked down and announced, "Horny Old Ladies, at your service."

I did a double take and had to ask, "At your age?"

"I'm 95 years young, and damned proud of it. Don't need a guy when my right hand works just fine, thank you very much."

"TMI," I said.

"Life is short, sweetie. Go get your man and do it up right."

That was great advice, but it would have to wait. The general admission panel was starting up, and the vamps and the gray hairs were buzzing like wasps thrown out of a hornet's nest. They circled each other warily and then there was a mad dash for the front seats, which ended with kicking and screaming. A bunch of security dudes came running in, and in the middle of it all, I saw my red-headed friend from Balboa Park getting shoved down the aisle with her friend.

*****

Patrick  
San Diego

My last appearance was at the cocktail hour, and I'd agreed to don the monkey suit. We had a room assigned to us, and I stood there staring at it hanging on the back of the door.

Kat took that opportunity to throw us into full Men in Black mode. She eyed the suit and my faded jeans and T-shirt. "Let's put it on."

"Put what on?

"The last suit you'll ever wear."

"I bet you waited all day to say that," I commented as she watched me change.

"You betcha. Need help with that?" She pointed to the tie, which I was attempting to knot and failing miserably.

"Do your worst."

"Which is still ten times better than your sad attempt." Kat's deft fingers quickly sorted things out.

"That old lady really got your fired up." I still couldn't believe we'd run into her.

"Maybe, or it could have been the clandestine sex."

"Always a plus."

We finally were ready, and I had to admit we looked smashing. Perhaps this idea of hers to pimp out in full MIB mode at Wally and Rachel's wedding was worth entertaining.

The cocktail hour was your standard fare at any con, full of overeager fans and drunken celebrities and the usual bad music. I met some nice college girls from LA who'd driven down just for my panel (I could probably count the people who didn't know on one hand) and an older couple from San Diego who were longtime fans. Some of the old ladies wandered through, and the inevitable vamps who wanted nothing more than to C.O.P a feel. I evaded their predatory fingers and finally made it out of there in one piece. But my tiny moment of triumph was soon extinguished by the maddening crowd of waiting females, hands and claws extended to rip any little piece of me that they could get.

Kat looked a bit alarmed when we got separated, and I finally got a hold of her and headed toward the elevator. As we waited, the crowd formed around us and I hugged Kat close to me. She smelled like vanilla and lavender and I wanted to bury myself in her and hide from all these strangers. Some strange whim prompted me to whisper two words to her, but her answer was lost in the deafening roar that erupted around us when the elevator finally arrived.

*****

Kat  
San Diego to Boston

Two words.

_Let's elope._

**What the hell?**

Yeah, that was my response. What was I supposed to say, I want you, I need you, oh baby, let's get hitched?

Yes, maybe someday, but not this week, or even a month from now.

Patrick and I were in a great place right now. We'd finally talked and were in accord. I didn't want to upset that balance by introducing a new variable.

When the time was right, we should take that next step, and do it on our own terms and not let our families turn us into puppets.

I tried to frame this in a conversation, but every time I started, my words got stuck in my throat and I lost my courage. And each time I opened my mouth to speak, Patrick looked over at me like an eager puppy and I felt like a complete shithead.

So I let it founder, and we finally returned to our familiar patterns.

Summer turned to fall, and we flew back East just after Labor Day.

My baby cats were half grown, and the shelter had already placed three of them in permanent homes.

I asked the pet sitter to stay on and house sit and wrote her a large check to cover the costs. "I'll be gone till next spring."

Patrick smiled enigmatically as he walked by us and made himself at home on my…_our_…sofa. This sharing business would take some getting used to.

"So, you ready to ride off in the sunset with me?" he asked with his smirk firmly in place.

I heard the real question he was asking, and knew it was time to pay the piper."Four months."

Patrick raised a single eyebrow. "Only in Lapland."

Yeah, right, land of the sun that never set. I rolled my eyes and said, "Let's see what happens between now and my Dad's wedding."

He quipped, "Ooh, are we all going to turn into pumpkins?"

"Haha. Wrong story, and you're _not_ that prince, Chuck."

Patrick held up his hands and made a scary gesture. "Then maybe I'm a vampire after all, and I've waited 15 years to come out of the closet."

"Can we be serious for two seconds? I want to give this…_us_…time to settle in, without a 24/7 media circus surrounding us."

Patrick searched my face and finally nodded. "OK, four months it is."

"I'll make all the arrangements. Any preferences for our final destination?"

"Maui."

"Hana?"

He shook his head. "Makena Cove."

It was a beautiful beach and one of the top wedding destinations in Hawaii. Not only did I know it, I had photographed a wedding there back in college. "Hmm, popular, but in the off season, should be easy to arrange."

"Then we're good?"

I smiled. "We're awesome."

******

Patrick  
San Diego

Kat and I arrived on Coronado Island with only minutes to spare.

Wally's uptight doctor friends looked down their noses at us, and Rachel's gal pals pointed and laughed.

"I can't believe you talked me into this."

Kat held up her toy gun and pointed at the door. "The aliens await."

And a particularly nasty specimen was bearing down on us, his face even darker than his tomato red cummerbund. "Explain," Wally said flatly, looking between our matching suits with distaste.

Kat was visibly trying not to laugh. "He's J and I'm K, at your service."

"This is a wedding, not a masquerade ball."

His florid cheeks were approaching a Kat approved purple. "Dad, I thought we agreed…I'd be the best man and Patrick would be.." She choked on her words and I felt the vibration of her laughter as she hid her face.

Wally's eyes narrowed at the grin I failed to hide. "We _did_ warn you."

He moved closer and shook his finger at me. "Don't push your luck with me, young man."

I caught a glimpse of Rachel drawing her hand across her throat and knew it was time to act my age. "Sorry I got carried away."

"Apology accepted. Now, if you'll both take your places."

We lined up at the door and the rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch. Rachel was dressed in a gorgeous silk dress with a circlet of flowers on her head, and Wally wore the standard, boring tux with a carnation that matched her ensemble.

Kat and I stood off to one side and surveyed the crowd. Bianca waddled to the front row with one hand resting on her belly and the other resting against her lower back. Cameron helped her sit down and she heaved herself down with the grunt heard round the world. Lola snickered at her mother's ungainliness and made a face when she saw me watching. "When is she due?" I whispered to Kat.

"Two weeks ago," Kat murmured back.

"Another set of twins?"

She held up three fingers and I nearly burst out laughing. "Poor Cameron."

Kat cupped her hand over my ear. "All boys."

I covered my face. "It runs in your family."

Kat nodded toward a tall, dark haired woman sitting next to Bianca. "That's my mother's twin sister."

Wally frowned at our chatter and both of us piped down as they exchanged vows. The priest (Episcopal) asked us if there was any reason for my new uncle/future father-in-law and Rachel not to join in holy matrimony. I could think of a few hundred, such as Rachel's misadventures at The Tit, but mum was the word.

I cringed a little when they swapped spit, but joined in the clapping when they turned and beamed at us, and a tiny part of me realized I'd never seen Rachel look so happy. "There's hope for us yet," I muttered to Kat as we followed them down the aisle.

Kat took my hand and I looked down at the gorgeous solitaire I'd given her a few months back. She'd designed it herself, choosing an array of perfectly cut diamonds and amethysts, and it suited her. Her ever present bracelets were replaced with pearl cuff links and a silver Navajo bracelet that I'd bought her in New Mexico.

We approached the happy couple and Kat hugged her Dad and Rachel. I extended my hand and nearly had my fingers surgically removed by his grip. "Say uncle," Walter said with a grin that widened when I grimaced.

"Uncle Wally," I exclaimed. "Where have you been all my life?"

Rachel lowered her chin in that way that told me to behave. "You both look great. Congratulations," I offered, knowing they'd both appreciate my rather hefty contribution to the children's cancer center at Wally's hospital. And they'd probably like the songs Kat and I had written especially for this occasion.

I put my arm around Kat and we headed straight to the bar. She ordered a non-alcoholic drink and shook her head when I offered some champagne in a crystal flute. "You going all Carrie Nation on me?"

"Still hung over from the party last night," Kat said through a mouthful of popcorn.

We headed for our seats and watched the new couple do their first dance (Just the Way You Are), and then we were called up. The music shifted to something more contemporary (15 vs. 500 years old), and my ears pricked up at the tune. "Hey, I know this," I crowed. "Our first dance."

"Carry Me On."

"You weren't such a bad dancer, for someone who stomped on my feet at least a dozen times," I joked.

"Hey, you're the one who forced me to dance with you." Kat punched my arm lightly.

"Aww, you know you loved it."

"Maybe a little."

I tweaked her nose. "C'mon, cop to it. That night is burned in your memory."

"Not for the reasons you think, Chuck."

The music ended and I smiled. "C'mon, Norma, let's get some food before your sister eats it all."

******

Kat  
San Diego.

I touched Bianca's shoulder as she plowed into her appetizers. "How are you holding up?"

She whined, "How do you think? I've gained 80 pounds and I'll never be a size 0 again."

"Neither will Kate Moss. What does the doctor say?"

"They're inducing me in the next few days if I don't go into labor."

"That sucks," I said with real sympathy.

"What, you're not going to lecture me about being directly responsible for global warming?"

"Naw, and I might even loan you my boat when a tsunami takes out your house."

Bianca rolled her eyes. "Glad to know you have my back."

"So how's the addition going?"

My sister's house was a shambles, and the contractor that my father had recommended turned out to be a shyster that ran off with their money. So now they were scrambling to put together a nursery before the boys arrived on the scene to wreak havoc in my sister's carefully mannered life, one that had started to become sane now that her girls were older.

"I guessed you missed the lecture about not poking a stick at a hornet's nest," Bianca said tartly.

"Anything we can do to help?"

"Unless you can pull off some Habitat for Humanity miracle…then no."

I looked over at my personal miracle worker and knew that if anyone could pull off the impossible, it was Patrick, who knew a zillion people and could call in a bunch of favors. "Let me see what I can do."

Bianca got distracted when my ring flashed in the sun. "Have you set a date yet?"

"Not exactly," I said with my best Mona Lisa smile.

"Kat, what are you up to?" My sister was never fooled by my rather lousy acting skills.

Part of me was sorely tempted to spill my news, but I restrained myself at the last second and hugged my sister. "Hope your labor is smooth sailing."

"Aren't you going to be there to greet your nephews?" Bianca sounded rather upset, but between Dad, Cameron, his mother, and all his sisters, she would be well taken care of.

I shook my head. "Patrick and I are catching a plane right after the reception."

Her face fell slightly, and I felt a little remorse that I wasn't the sort of person who lived and died to serve their family. "Where are you off to?"

"Nowhere special." I was lying through my teeth and she totally knew it.

"Well, when you get back from nowhere, give me a call."

I nodded, and saw Patrick motioning me to the stage. Brad, Luis, and Jess materialized from the direction of the bar and a cheer went up as they picked up their instruments. I frowned at Patrick and asked, "I thought we were doing the songs we just wrote."

"The guys wanted to accompany us…if that's OK."

Who was I to turn down a session with my favorite mechanics? "Let's do it."

And so, my favorite man in black picked up his borrowed guitar (my Martin D-28) and started crooning the ballad we'd written last night as we sat in the hot tub. It was sweet and sensual, all at the same time, and it had a killer chorus where the entire band harmonized. And on the last verse, my voice joined Patrick's and we soared for a few giddy moments.

I looked down and saw my Dad and Rachel, completely entranced by this gift we were giving them. There were tears in my Dad's eyes and his face was bursting with pride. As the last note died away, he gave me two thumb's up.

The rest of the songs went down like a vanilla milkshake, and when the guests were done dancing, they got up on chairs and gave us a standing ovation.

******

Patrick  
San Diego

The party was winding down, and it was almost time to unveil my surprise. Kat was hugging and kissing her family and it sure felt like good-bye to me. As she stood chatting easily with Wally, I realized I was no longer the outsider looking in. I was part of this celebration, and this family that welcomed me with open arms.

I would do anything for Kat, and when she'd explained her sister's housing nightmare to me, I said I could help. I'd already called half a dozen people who assured me they could be there first thing in the morning, with a guaranteed completion of five days.

We started moving toward the exit with Wally and Rachel seeing us off. All was moonlight and roses, right up to the point where Wally and Kat spotted the motorcycles parked next to their limo.

Kat's 'what the hell' was drowned out by Wally's 'you can't be serious, son'.

I took Kat's hand and dropped the keys to the Honda in it. "May I present your new ride?"

"I'm going to kill you, if my father doesn't throttle you first."

"You're welcome," I replied easily, knowing she would come around once she got over her shock.

"My daughter is _not_ riding out of here on that machine," Walter said crossly.

"Really, then she better hold out her thumb, because it's a long ride back to La Jolla."

Wally's raised his eyebrows at my temerity, and he was about to dress me down, but Kat beat him to the punch. "His daughter can speak for herself," she growled.

Kat looked at Wally. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not your little cactus anymore."

He nodded his head. "I'm beginning to realize that."

"I know how to handle a motorcycle, Dad, and I'm a licensed rider."

Wally pointed at me and I stifled a laugh. "This is your fault."

"Blame it on too many reruns of Easy Rider," I said dryly.

"So you insist on riding that contraption?" Wally said in a resigned tone.

Kat eyed the bike and I saw the excitement that came and went in a flash. "Someone has to, I guess."

I looked at the sky and saw the sun was sinking fast. "We have to get rolling."

She suddenly realized that we had a flight to catch. "I know."

We did the hug and kiss thing and I finally broke the spell by moving toward my vintage BMW bike. Kat did a quick examination of the controls and once she knew where everything was, she gave me a thumb's up. Before we could mount our bikes, Walter cleared his throat.

Kat and I whirled around and almost got poked in the eye by his pointing finger. It was aimed mostly at me, but his daughter was included in his admonition. "Helmets," he said with a straight face.

And the last sight we saw before heading off into the sunset was Walter laughing at his own cleverness.

******

Epilogue

Kat  
Maui

Patrick and I were married at sunrise on a private beach in Maui. Turns out Makena Cove was booked solid through the winter, so one of Patrick's friends offered his private enclave for the week.

It was a gorgeous place with turquoise water and black sand that glistened like diamonds. The lady minister (Unitarian) used our personal words to each other, and it was beyond moving. By the time I choked out my vows, tears were streaming down my face. I couldn't excuse wind or contact lenses, so it must be the overwhelming love I felt for the still mysterious Patrick Verona.

I'd never seen him cry, but I swear he swiped away some moisture from his eyes when we exchanged rings. They were simple gold bands with an intricate white gold pattern that we had picked out in Hana.

And so our married life began with a glorious week of sex, sand, surfing, swimming, and snorkeling. No one knew where we were, and that was the best part of all.

We left the private estate and continued exploring the other Hawaiian islands, and my camera got a real workout. The one time I checked my messages, I received a text from Rachel saying that Katrick had hit the top twenty. I showed it to Patrick and his only answer was a smile.

Bianca set me pictures of her three howling boys (Patrick, John, and Michael) and Cameron, who was asleep in the background. In return, I sent her a wedding photo of me and Patrick with the words, "We eloped."

Her answer was, "I knew it! Congratulations. Want me to tell Dad?"

"Already done."

Patrick and I were sitting on a terrace sipping delicious tropical smoothies when Dad's video call came in. "Should I answer?"

"Naw, it'll keep," Patrick said.

We enjoyed our lunch and then we played back his message. I put it on speaker phone and practically fell out of my chair laughing at the blue streak emerging from it. Dad's face had turned an interesting day glo shade of fuchsia, and his infamous pointing hand was right up to the lens. I heard bits and pieces of 'how could you let us down like that' to 'irresponsible man boy' and 'needs to get a haircut'.

"I guess helmets are the least of his problems," I said after we stopped laughing. "But don't worry, when he hears the latest, all will be forgiven."

My hands patted my belly and I raised my eyebrows knowingly. Patrick's expression changed from confusion to comprehension and he was suddenly hugging me so hard that I was breathless. "Damn," was all he said before falling back into his chair and scrubbing his fingers through his perpetual bedhead.

"Careful with the merchandise. If they send me back to the mainland in pieces, then Grandpa Wally really will want your head on a stick."

Oh, how we laughed and danced that night, poised on the threshold of the next chapter in our story.

The End


End file.
